


Hunger

by GrrraceUnderfire



Category: Hogan's Heroes
Genre: Angst and Fluff and Smut, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Canon Het Relationship, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, F/M, Het and Slash, Hurt/Comfort, Infatuation, Lemon, Love me some Newgan, M/M, Male Slash, Pre-Slash, Prisoner of War, Sabotage, Slow Burn, Speech Disorders, Stalag 13, Stuttering, Stuttering Peter Newkirk, Tailoring, Vulnerability, World War II, based on the german version
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-02
Updated: 2019-10-06
Packaged: 2020-10-05 17:48:46
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 24
Words: 23,651
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20492807
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GrrraceUnderfire/pseuds/GrrraceUnderfire
Summary: Longing begins tenderly and grows urgent. It took many months for Hogan and Newkirk to realize there was something happening between them, and it took a courageous heart's sacrifice to bring them together. Het and slash, with a slow, slow burn. EXTRA CHAPTER #7 HAS BEEN ADDED.





	1. Stand by Me

From the time Hogan arrived in camp, Newkirk stood next to him in formation. It wasn’t an accident. The British corporal’s reputation for causing trouble preceded him, so Klink had insisted on the arrangement. 

“The Englander, the one with the stammer. You must watch him closely, Colonel Hogan. He has spent more time in the cooler than any man in camp, and frankly I don’t like it. He comes out sick and it makes the other men angry to see him that way, and the chaos that results is not worth it. No, he needs discipline. An officer’s discipline will do more than another cooler sentence.”

”I hardly know the kid,” Hogan shrugged as he fiddled with Klink’s Prussian helmet. “That’s some stutter he’s got, though.” He raised his eyebrows.

”Yes, it is all part of his mental disturbance, not to mention bad upbringing. He’s a London gutter rat. It won’t be easy to discipline him, but you must do it, Colonel, for everyone’s sake. Keep him by your side in the formation. Dismissed!”

Hogan wandered off with two cigars tucked in his jacket, a small personal incentive for the work he was doing in buttering up the Kommandant. He’d have him all figured out in a few more meetings, would know how to squeeze the man’s pressure points. In the meantime, he needed to be a good, meek little captive and do as he was instructed. He’d show Klink he was working on Newkirk.

Newkirk. He liked the scrawny kid. He had already demonstrated he had some interesting talents. If he could just fix that stutter. It was painful to listen to him when it got bad. And it was bad any time Kinch or LeBeau was out of Newkirk’s sight.

As the men shuffled into the compound for evening roll call, Hogan shouted out the order: “Newkirk, you stand by me. Klink wants you in the front row where he can keep an eye on you.” His eyes twinkled. “Mischief maker,” he added. He could have told Newkirk privately, but it was better this way. The men would know it was his order that put Newkirk by his side.

Newkirk was annoyed, then quietly pleased. He didn’t like to be told what to do. But he knew enough about Hogan’s unfolding plans for a sabotage and rescue mission to be interested in standing front and center with the Colonel. After all, he wasn’t shy, even if some people thought he was. Most people didn’t understand that he didn’t stammer out of shyness or embarrassment. He just stammered.

He’d have to put up a fuss, though. His reputation depended on it. He detected the touch of admiration when Hogan said “mischief maker” and thought he’d build on that.

”Mmmmischief,” he snorted as he took his place beside Hogan. “If ‘e thinks ‘e’s seen mmmmmischief, he’s got another thought coming. And mmmaking me st-stand next to the only bleedin’ officer in the place? Cruel, that. It mmmust be against the G-G-G-G...”

”Geneva Convention. We know,” Olsen filled in. “Shut up, Newkirk.”

“Watch it, Corporal,” Hogan said in warning to Newkirk, loud enough for the Germans to hear. “You’ll stand where I tell you to stand.”

Newkirk was turning to give Olsen a piece of his mind when he caught Hogan’s eye. Oh, now he was in for it; he’d ticked off the CO. But wait— Hogan was smiling at him. He was amused. He was ... impressed? Was that it? Emboldened, Newkirk casually shifted back into position and idly tossed a comment over his shoulder.

”Sod off, Olsen. I can fffinish my own damned sentences.”

”Nobody’s got that much time,” Olsen snapped back with a big grin.

Newkirk looked back at him and rolled his eyes in the most withering fashion possible.

”W-We’re bleedin’ POWs, mate. W-W-We’ve got nothing _but_ time,” Newkirk replied. The he flashed a grin He could take a joke.

Hogan chuckled, and Newkirk smiled to himself. He liked this Yank officer.


	2. Learning to Fall

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Newkirk supplies a dramatic flourish, to Hogan’s delight.

"All right, you fellows know the routine. We need to give Olsen time to get out of camp. We need to create a distraction during roll call," Hogan said. It was late afternoon, and the final roll call of the day was less than an hour away. "What haven't we tried?"

"A fight? It's been a while since we used that one," Carter said.

"Good thinking, Carter. But not this time. Someone will land in the cooler for that, and we can't spare any men right now," Hogan said. "What else?" 

"We can grab Schultzie's helmet and pass it down the line," LeBeau said. "He'll waste time looking for it."

"That's good, that's good," Hogan said. "You see to that one, LeBeau. But we need more. Something that will get everyone worked up."

"I could puke," Garlotti said. "I've done it before."

The murmurs were instantaneous and violent.

"The people have spoken, Garlotti," Hogan said apologetically. "I don't think we can handle that again just yet. Remember the chain reaction you caused last time? I lost five men for an entire evening. Seven if you count the clean-up crew."

"I'm sick just thinking about it," Carter said while heads bobbed in agreement.

Hogan looked at Newkirk, whose mouth was moving. "Newkirk? Newkirk? Are you going to throw up? See, Garlotti, this is what I was talking about."

"Newkirk's fine, Sir," Kinch said. "Give him a minute." He was sitting beside the Englishman at the table, and squeezed his forearm.

Newkirk was much more at ease in closed door meetings with Colonel Hogan and his closest team members than out here, where the entire barracks was in on the discussion. He could sense everyone's eyes on him, and he was feeling intense pressure not to stammer and give the lads a reason to ridicule him. He had a good idea, but getting it out was proving difficult. He was stuck on the sound "W" and couldn't seem to break past it. "What if..." wasn't going to happen, he realized. So he stopped, pressed his face into his hand, and regrouped. Bleeding stupid stammer, always getting in his way and making him look more hesitant than he ever felt.

"I could p-p-p-pass out, Sir," he finally said. "Schultz would stop for that, and it would create a lot of natural mmmmovement in the ranks."

Hogan bobbed his head, thinking about it. "How good's your faint, Newkirk?"

Newkirk stood, paced to the other side of the room, and spoke as he went.

"It's been a w-while since I've tried it, Sir. Honestly, I'm ffffeeling a bit under the w-weather as it is. Blimey, it's hot in here, isnt' it?" He stopped a few inches from Colonel Hogan and said, "Mmmaybe it's a bad idea. Cor, my head hurts." As he lurched forward, Hogan and Kinch jumped in to catch him. 

He was dead-weight in Hogan's arms for a long moment, then came to. Shaking, he let Hogan and Kinch ease him into a seat. He looked clammy and nauseated. 

"I don't think that's such a good idea, Newkirk," Hogan said, kneeling in front of the man with concern etched in his face. He touched his shoulder. "Are you going to be OK? You look hot." He touched his cheek.

At that, the Englishman brightened immediately. "Mmmme, Sir? I"m fine! I thought that w-went smashingly." He stood, turned and took a bow, then peeked over his shoulder at the Colonel. Hogan was smiling broadly, and dropped an arm around his shoulder, laughing helplessly. 

"Gentlemen," Hogan said, "I think we found our distraction." He pulled Newkirk closer into a side hug and leaned in to whisper in his ear. "You little sneak. You got the part."

Newkirk felt Hogan's hot breath on his ear and beamed while Hogan showed him off and joked with the team. He knew he'd won more than the part. He'd won the Colonel's confidence. 

**XXX**

This chapter is based on the pilot episode, The Informer.


	3. The Brave Little Tailor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Newkirk is a pro at fitting men for suits. Why is taking Hogan's measurements so bloody trying?

"Just above average height and build. A 42 Regular, are you Sir?"

Hogan laughed. Yes, he was. "You're good Newkirk. Can't you just work with that?"

"No, Sir. This suit's important. You're going to wear it w-whenever you're a well-heeled civilian or Gestapo. It's got to look proper. It will only take 20 mmminutes, Sir. Height and weight, Sir? And no cheating. It's important that it's accurate."

Me? Cheat? Height, 5 feet, 10 and 3/4 inches. Weight, 160 on a good day. Maybe a few pounds lighter when the rations are low," Hogan said.

"Mmm, so you're not a 6-foot Colonel really, are you?" Newkirk joked.

"Regrettably, no. But you know the Air Force motto: Aim High," Hogan replied with a grin.

"We'll call it 155 pounds, then. I've seen how you eat. Carter, put down 155," Newkirk said. "You want flannel, I should think, Sir. It's the most breathable ffffabric," Newkirk added as he stretched his tailor's tape around Colonel Hogan's neck. "Collar, 15 and three quarters. Stance, forward leaning to normal," he said as Carter took notes. "You ARE getting this, right Carter? It needs to be precise."

"Yesirree," Carter replied. "Don't worry, buddy. I take good notes."

"Good. Shoulders, normal slope, 19 and a half. Hand on hip, bend your arm. Sleeve, 33 and a quarter." He paused to stub out the cigarette he'd been clenching in his teeth and held the tape from the bottom of the Colonel's imagined collar to where the jacket hem should fall. "Length, 31."

"How many measurements are there? Aren't you done yet?" Hogan was getting testy standing still.

"Never had a bespoke suit, Sir?" Newkirk asked with surprise.

"I'm an off-the-rack man, Newkirk," Hogan answered. "Come on, hurry. We've got things to do."

"I'm still working on the coat, Guv. There are several more steps. It'll take 20 minutes, like I said. But you'll be fit to walk among kings when I'm done with you, Sir." He patted the Colonel confidently on the chest, then walked around his subject, looking him up and down critically.

"What?" Hogan asked.

"I'm thinking about colors. It's difficult in this light, but I think a rich charcoal grey would be best for you. Pink shirt, if you've got the guts for it."

"I don't wear pink," Hogan said, snarling and reddening slightly at the same time.

"Pity," Newkirk said. "You have the c-coloring for it. I can't wear it meself, though I do rather dazzle in blue. White shirt, then. How dreadfully dull. All right. Arms up. Relax, breathe out. Chest, 41 and a quarter."

He stood back and challenged himself mentally. "Overarm should be 48 and a quarter...no, a half." He drew his tape around the Colonel below his shoulder blades at the fullest point of his arms. "Dead on," he grinned.

"What do I write?" Carter asked.

"Like I said, overarm, 48 and a half!" Newkirk snapped.

"Don't mess with Newkirk when he's creating," Hogan joked. "Genius at work."

Newkirk scoffed, continued with a few more measurements, then commanded, "New category, Carter. Trousers."

"Trousers," Hogan repeated. "Fine..."

"Well, ahm, you know..." Newkirk started.

"Yes?" Hogan replied impatiently.

"My fffirst question. You know. H-how does the g-g-gentleman dress, Sir?"

"What?"

"How does the g-g-g-g-gentleman dress?" Newkirk bit his lip while Hogan looked at him uncomprehendingly. "Hang, Sir," he finally said with a small hand gesture in the general direction of the Colonel's crotch. "Which side?"

Hogan looked at Newkirk slackjawed for a minute, and suddenly it clicked. He'd been asked this once when he got fitted for dress blues. "Uh, left."

"Mmmmost g-gentlemen do, Sir. But I do have to ask, as it affects the fit. Note 'dress left,' Carter."

Hogan was simmering now. Newkirk knew that look and realized he was running short of time to finish. "Would you, you, you rather finish more privately, Sir? I can write the remaining measurements."

"That'd be good," Hogan said.

"Thank God. Jeez, what a question," Carter said as he handed the notepad over to Newkirk. "I dress left too, in case you were ever wondering."

"I wasn't wondering, but thank you for the information, Carter."

Carter exited the room.

"Why do you ask that, anyway?" Hogan asked as Carter left the room.

"Ah, ah... w-w-well, because one shouldn't be able to tell how a gentleman dresses if the trousers fit properly. I adjust the fabric ever so slightly. I am sorry, Sir. It's a standard question. I certainly didn't mmean to embarrass you."

"You didn't embarrass me. It's just nosy."

"Yes, Sir. Can we finish, Sir?"

"Fine," Hogan sighed. "What about you?"  
  
"W-w-what about me?"

"How do you dress? As long as we're putting it all on the table."

Newkirk gulped. "L-l-left, Sir. Rather typical."

"If it's typical, why do you ask?"

"B-b-b-because some go right and some go c-c-c-center and you h-h-h-have to adjust. Blimey, Sir, can we just mmmmove on?"

Hogan glared at Newkirk. "Yeah. Finish up here."

"Waist," Newkirk said, "Thirty-five. We've got outseam, hip, seat, and, um, inseam, Sir."

"Inseam."

"Yes. Yes, Sir. I um, that is, you, um. Hold the tape. Hold it right here. Leg straight."

Hogan held the tape as Newkirk crouched beneath him. "Thirty two and a half." He quickly and efficiently took the remaining measurements, apologizing as he brushed up against Hogan. As he stood to write them down, he grinned tightly and turned. "You should have a single pleat, I think," he murmured as he worked. "Better for movement. Don't know what your air force was thinking with those ruddy flat-fronts."

Hogan's breathed a little heavier as he appraised Newkirk from behind. Hip, seat, waist, inseam, he thought. Pleasantly trim.

"What size are you?" he asked as Newkirk reviewed his numbers. 

"Me, Sir?"

"Who else?"

Newkirk turned around to face the Colonel and caught a smoldering look in his eye. He hesitated, then replied. "A 38 Regular, more or less. I have trouble keeping me weight up, so it varies, but that's the st-st-starting point."

"Height?" Hogan asked, taking a step closer and gazing intently at Newkirk.

"Five foot eight, Sir," Newkirk replied with equal intensity. "W-weight, 142 pounds on a good day. A lot less lately."

"Waist?" Hogan asked, dropping a hand to Newkirk's midsection.

"Th-th-thirty one, Sir. I'd be lost without side tabs." He stepped back. "Trouser break, Sir?"

"What's that?"

"Where do you want the turn-ups to fall?” He searched his mind for the term he’d heard in American movies. “You do want cuffs, don't you, Sir?"

"How would I know?"

Newkirk dipped his head down and inched closer. "Half break is quite standard. It gives you one foldover on your shoe. Full break is for old chaps. Quarter break is nice. I favor no break meself, but that's for the sartorially daring. As for cuffs, I quite like and do recommend an inch and a half for you. You're tall enough." He looked up and smiled. "Sir."

Hogan laughed at that. "You're sartorially daring? A dandy, huh?"

"A bit, yes," Newkirk laughed. "I do like dressing properly. Speaking of which," he said, tucking a finger into the Colonel's waistband, "these are too loose. I've told you that before."

Hogan inhaled and reared back as Newkirk drew his hand away as if it had suddenly been burned. "Sssorry to startle you, Sir. It's just that as a professional, it troubles me, and as an officer, well, you need to look smart."

Hogan looked at Newkirk and grinned. He had things to do, but he was enjoying himself, and a little more time down here with his Corporal couldn't hurt. "How long does that take?"

"To fix the waist? Half an hour or so," Newkirk replied.

"Do it now," Hogan said. He slipped his trousers off and handed them to Newkirk. Down to his boxer shorts, Hogan flipped a chair around and sat with his folded arms on its back. "I'll keep you company," he said simply.

"W-w-well, Sir, it might be easier for me to concentrate if I were alone," Newkirk said, testing the trousers fabric in his hands and trying not to look at how Hogan was sitting.

"I can't go up without my pants, Corporal," Hogan said. "I'll wait."

"Ah, yes, Sir. Yes, Sir. I'll get right to work. J-j-just back here." Newkirk pointed toward an alcove in his sewing room.

"No, stay. I'll keep you company," Hogan said.

"Right, righto, Guv," Newkirk replied. "Well, I'll just get st-started then. An inch and a half should do, I think. Three quarters from each side. And I'd like to add some darts to shape the seat. When it's loose, it makes you look a bit ffflat. Sir." He bit his lip in a teasing way and his eyes sparkled.

"Ffflat. Hmm," Hogan smiled. Newkirk grinned back. Hogan never imitated his stutter, but this was just between them. He'd just dished it out to the Colonel, and he knew perfectly well that his stammer could be quite endearing at times.

"Yes, Sir, entirely too ffffflat," Newkirk said with an exaggerated stutter. "I notice these things in my line of work. Let me tell you about this one chap who came into the shop. He was fffflopping over his waistband, and he said, 'Let it out an inch or two.' Well, it would have taken six inches, and there's not that much seam allowance in any pair of trousers. So I told him..."


	4. The Fear Factor

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It’s proving surprisingly difficult to keep Newkirk on the team as it expands its role. Tough as the young Englishman is, what he really needs is the gentle talk and touch of his CO.

  
Only three months had passed since Hogan had arrived at Luft Stalag 13 and formed his crack team to help prisoners escape. Now the order had come in from London to do more than get prisoners out and harass the enemy. They were branching out into sabotage.

He thought the men would be enthusiastic, or at least willing. And they were--except for Newkirk.

Hogan was disappointed. He'd had his doubts about Newkirk at the outset, but he'd been wrong, and he knew it. Newkirk was a tremendous asset: Resourceful, talented at misdirection, a natural performer and mimic, and a clever thief. His stutter was a challenge, but not an insurmountable one. Paradoxically, his ear for languages was so good that after two and a half years in a Stalag, he was fluent in German and didn't stutter a bit in that tongue.

He was disappointed because Newkirk's credentials for the expanded role they were about to undertake were sterling. And there was something else: Hogan couldn't imagine the team without Newkirk. He was highly social and well liked. He had a knack for lightening the mood when it was necessary, or for sharpening the tone when circumstances required. And Hogan had come to value his constant questions and challenges. He was good at poking holes in ideas and arguments, and that was an important trait.

Over dinner, the other men worked steadily on Newkirk to stick with them. As they saw it, derailing trains, blowing up bridges, and interfering with the German war machine was not only exciting work. It was important work that they could all be proud of.

"I'm st-still thinking about it" was all Newkirk would say when pressed.

"Well, think faster, Newkirk," Hogan joked. "Seriously, now, we need a decision soon. We've got our first mission coming up. I need to know if you're in or you're out."

Newkirk let out a puff of breath, shook his head, and rose from the table.

"Where are you going?" LeBeau asked.

"Latrine," Newkirk said. "Blimey, can't a chap have a moment's peace?"

"Take your time. Then come see me when you get back," Hogan said.

Newkirk let out a deep sigh. "Yes, Sir."

**XXX**

Hogan and Kinch were in the Colonel's office going over inventories when they heard a knock at the door.

"Come in," Hogan said. It was Newkirk, peering anxiously through the crack. Hogan waved him in. "Come on, don't be shy."

It was a figure of speech, of course. Hogan had readily seen Newkirk's confidence in the way he walked, swaggering about the camp like he owned the place. But in that moment, Hogan looked across the room at Newkirk and saw a different man... in fact, a boy. He looked apprehensive, scared, and yes, shy. 

He was still hovering by the door, barely dipping his toe into the room. Hogan exchanged a glance with Kinch, then rose from his table and walked over to meet the Corporal. He put his arm around him as he led him to the table. Newkirk stayed silent, head slightly down.

Hogan leaned in to him. "You want Kinch to stay?"

Newkirk nodded and looked up shyly at Kinch before averting his eyes."Yes, please, Sir." Kinch and LeBeau had assumed the roles of big brother to Newkirk, with LeBeau as the trusted confidant whose shoulder he could cry on, and frequently had, and Kinch as the steady influence whose advice he sought and never doubted. Hogan sometimes wondered where that left him. Not being a mind-reader, he couldn't have known that he occupied an even higher berth in Newkirk's pantheon of respect: Newkirk viewed the Colonel with awe and craved his approval.

Hogan patted him on the back and steered him to his table. "Have a seat, Newkirk," he said. "Tell us what you're thinking."

Newkirk sat for a long moment, inhaled deeply through his nose, made an 'O' with his mouth, and blew air out threw pursed lips. Once, twice, and three times, he repeated the ritual. He was getting his bearings, and Kinch and Hogan sat patiently as he went through the steps. Then he removed his cap from his belt and held it, fiddling with the buttons. 

Finally, Hogan spoke up. "I know it bothers you when I point out that you're nervous, especially when I'm wrong. But right now, you're nervous."

Newkirk shifted uncomfortably, then nodded his head. "Yes Sir, you're right about that."

"Care to tell us why?" Hogan said softly. "Whatever you need to say, it's OK. It's just among us."

"I, I, I, um. I, I..." Newkirk began, head down. Then he looked up, his earnest gaze shifting from Kinch to Hogan. "I, I, I don't want to let you down, Sir."

Hogan felt the air rushing out of him. He was saying no. "Newkirk, I understand that. It has to be your choice. Our mission is strictly on a volunteer basis. I can't make you do it."

The corporal nodded. "Mmmmmight be b-b-better if I..." 

Hogan nodded too, feeling resigned to losing Newkirk and sickened at the prospect. "I wish I could talk you out of it, Newkirk, but it sounds like your mind is made up."

"My, my, my, my mind has nothing to do with it," Newkirk said. "It's my g-g-g-guts. I'm scared."

Kinch looked at Hogan, then at Newkirk. "We're all scared, Peter," he said.

"No you're not," Newkirk said incredulously. "You're never scared, you and the Colonel." 

:"Are you kidding me?" KInch asked. "I"m not even likely to go out on many missions, and I'm scared."

"Well, I don't think I can take another thing to be scared about, mate," Newkirk said softly. "One big thing's enough." Kinch nodded at him, as though they'd had this conversation before. Hogan noticed the trusting way Newkirk spoke to Kinch. In Kinch's presence, he had a gentle quality that Hogan hadn't noticed in him before. He felt a rush of warmth as he watched the two of them speak, suddenly wishing he had the rapport with Newkirk that Kinch clearly had.

"Are you scared for your family in London, Newkirk? Is that it?" Hogan asked. 

"W-w-well, of course I am, but th-that's not really, um, um," Newkirk replied.

"If you tell the Colonel what it is, I think it'll help, Peter," Kinch coaxed. "Take your time, then tell him."

"I'm just, I'm just, I'm just ... sc, sc.scared I'll be a liability to you, Sir," Newkirk said. "We have to c-c-c-c-communicate when we're working. W-what if I'm too slow? W-w-what if I can't do my part at all? I worry I'll st-st-stammer at the wrong time and won't be able to st-stop."

Hogan was stunned. "Is that what you're worried about? That you'll stutter? Because I'm not worried about that at all, Newkirk. I've seen you in action. You'll be OK."

"W-what if we get caught? W-what if I have to sp-sp-speak English to the bleedin' Gestapo? They're not going to be all k-k-kind and patient like you chaps and give me time to talk.They'll kill me, Sir. They'll kill us."

"The risk of capture by the Gestapo or the Luftwaffe guards is real," Hogan said. "For all of us. Whether we stutter or not, Newkirk. I trust you to handle yourself well."

"You-you do, Sir?" The look of surprise that came across Newkirk's face in that moment was pure innocence. "You, you trust me?"

"We all trust you, Newkirk" Hogan said, laying has hand across the corporal's neck, a thumb stroking his cheek. "We're a tight team. If any of us makes a mistake, we have a better chance of fixing it together." He drew his hand away, lingering just a moment on the younger man's still-soft cheek. How old was he, anyway? Twenty? Twenty-one?

Newkirk smiled at Hogan, shoved his hands into his pockets, and looked at Kinch. Smiling at Kinch, he took in a big gulp of air, just realizing that he'd been holding his breath, and turned back to Hogan.

"All, all right then, Sir. I'm in," Newkirk said. "If you're sure you trust me." 

"I trust you, and we're all going to look after you," Hogan said. "You don't have to worry. You're not on your own."

Newkirk looked soberly at Hogan, then took a step back, squared his shoulders, and saluted smartly. Hogan and Kinch returned the salute.

"All right, Sir, well, if that's all, I'll go have a word with me mates. They've been pestering me something awful about this." 

"You do that, Corporal," Hogan said. His eyes, filled with affection, followed Newkirk as he exited the Colonel's quarters.

Kinch was smiling and nodding as Newkirk departed. "Your team's complete, Sir," he said.

"Yes, it is," Hogan said. "It certainly is." 


	5. Scent of a Woman

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Tiger and Papa Bear share an intimate moment, Corporal Newkirk is slowly but surely weaving his way into Colonel Hogan’s fantasies.

Hogan caressed the soft warm breast, first with his hands and then with his lips. His hands wandered between her thighs, exploring then probing with gentle, experienced fingers. Ladies first, he thought.

Tiger was panting as the sensation intensified. She had her hand on him, but had stopped pulsing as she concentrated on the pleasure he was giving her. It didn’t matter, she thought with a smile. What was he was doing was exciting him enough to keep him hard. She could feel him pressing stiffly into her leg as he moved up to kiss her lips, her jaw, her neck. She loved her power over men, but most especially over the cool, confident Papa Bear.

Their tongues danced for several minutes, and then he shimmied down on the thin mattress, stopping when he was hovering over her firm belly. He stroked her Venus mound with his fingers and slid his fingers in again, rubbing in and out as she moaned and pleaded. Then he withdrew the fingers and spread her out a little wider. He traveled a little further down, trailing kisses down her belly, until his face was positioned between her legs. His tongue touched her gently, gently, then firmly and more rapidly. She was milky wet and he was lapping her up as his tongue worked her over.

“Oh _mon Dieu_, Robert. _Mon Dieu_.” She was reaching the point of no return as Robert’s tongue teased the underside of her pleasure center, then swirled around it. Her breaths grew rapid and her pelvis arched up toward him, letting his tongue drive deeper, inviting him in. She let the sensations take over.

As his tongue worked rapidly, Robert felt her body shake, heard her cry his name as she came underneath him. As her breathing evened out, he crawled back up until his hard, throbbing dick was right at her entrance. She took it in her hand, pumped it several times, and guided it in.

Ladies first, gentlemen next.

He thrust himself in and out of her slowly, then reached his hand to her cheek. He stroked it. So soft. He caressed it and thought of another cheek he’d caressed today. Nearly as soft, with just the slightest scratchy hint that it belonged to a man, not a woman. 

He thrust a little faster at that fleeting thought and saw that other face smiling at him, soft and mellow and handsome. Soon he was coming, gushing on Tiger’s leg as he pulled out. He collapsed on her and laughed. "God, Tiger, you destroy me," he said.

She smiled like a cat and snuggled in closer while he wondered what had just happened.

**XXX**

Half an hour later, he was leading her to the bunk bed tunnel entrance, a hand on her waist as he guided her down. His men surrounded him, suppressing grins. They knew. How could they not know? The walls were paper thin. Twelve years in the Army Air Force had made him very good at muffling himself, but he might have slipped a bit tonight. It had been months since that little farewell he'd had with Captain Michaels. Ohh, Diane, the things you could do with your tongue. Did they teach you that in boarding school?

He threw caution to the wind and kissed Tiger, long and luxuriously, right there in front of everyone. Rank has its privileges, he thought with a grin. Then Tiger disappeared into Kinch’s custody. Hogan banged the bunk in the right spot and the bed came down, covering the exit. He turned around. 

Most of the men had scattered. Olsen, Newkirk, Addison, Carter and LeBeau, however, were standing there, expectant.

”Had a good time, Sir?” Olsen asked, grinning slyly, arms crossed. Olsen had several women in town, which was a subject of mostly good-natured envy among the handful of men who knew of his Outside Man role. For an Outside Man, he spent a lot of time inside, Newkirk had observed. _Really_ inside.

“La Tigresse... ooh, la la,” LeBeau said, shaking his hand as if cooling it off. "You must admit, _mon Colonel_, French women are _magnifique, _and they are used to the best lovers. It takes a real man to please them." He winked at the Colonel and wiggled his index finger, having heard enough to know that Tiger left happy. Hogan laughed, raised his eyebrows and shrugged.

Hogan looked around at his audience. Addison, a married man, was biting his lip as his nostrils flared. Carter hung back, embarrassed yet intrigued, and visibly erect from the locker room talk and the very public display of affection. Newkirk was breathing hard, his hands moving deep in his trouser pockets. He would catch up to Carter any minute now, Hogan smirked. Did he not realize everyone could see what he was doing, or did he simply not care?

“All right boys, take it easy. I don’t kiss and tell,” Hogan teased as he ambled back toward his room. “Good night.”

There was a sudden clamor of questions.

"Oh come on, Sir."

"You can't do this to us!"

Hogan was having fun shrugging them off when one voice broke through. He'd promised to listen to this one voice, and he wasn't going to break that promise now.

“J-j-j-j." Gasp. "J-j-j-j-j-juh."

Hogan turned and smiled encouragingly at Newkirk. His brave boy, always speaking up. All right. Answering one little question wouldn’t hurt.

“J-just tell us _one_ thing, Sir,” Newkirk said. “Throw us a b-b-bone. It’s been so long,” he added, doing his best to sound pathetic.

"Long, he says. Yeah, throw us a _boner_, Colonel," Addison smirked. He made a pumping gesture with his hand to howls of laughter. 

Hogan looked at Newkirk in mock seriousness. “Hands out of your pockets and maybe I will,” he said. He grinned as LeBeau elbowed his friend with a sly, “You see? Be good, Pierre!”

Newkirk irritably stopped what he was doing and withdrew his hands, grumbling, “Where’s the fun in that?”

Hogan nodded in approval at the cessation of activity, reveling a bit in his power to make that happen. “All right, Newkirk, my boy,” he said, dropping a hand on one shoulder. “One question. And keep it clean.”

”Hmmm. A lot is riding on this," Newkirk said with a twinkle in his eye. "Let me think. Is she as talented as she looks, Sir?”

Hogan patted Newkirk on his impish cheek. “She’s better. Much, much, much better,” he replied, drawing out every word. He laughed as Newkirk’s eyes went wide at the touch and let his hand drift tantalizingly down to the corporal’s neck and chest, sweeping his fingers back and forth sensuously before he pulled away slowly. “Does that answer your question?” he said with a playful tap of his thumb on the Corporal's chin.

The other men veered between laughing and panting at the demonstration of Tiger's seductive technique. Newkirk simply gulped, and Hogan swore he could see flames dancing in his eyes. He answered the colonel breathlessly, “That’ll have to do, won’t it?”

”You catch on fast, you really do,” Hogan teased. “No more free samples. Good night, gentlemen.”

A chorus of “good night, colonel” bounced off the walls as the men changed and climbed into bunks. Hogan shut his door and climbed up to his bunk, grinning like a cat. Soon he was mentally reenacting every touch with Tiger. And with Newkirk. 


	6. A Very Private Corporal

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tiger's arrival in camp--and in Colonel Hogan's private quarters--has the men shaken up. Newkirk has trouble not thinking about her and the Colonel together.

The next morning after breakfast, LeBeau was looking for help cleaning the stove. It was just like Newkirk to dodge an unpleasant task. 

“I saw him heading down to the tunnels, Louis,” Carter supplied. “I’d help you with the stove, pal, but the Colonel ordered me to the motor pool.”

”Merci, Carter. That’s kind of you, but this is Newkirk’s job. He’ll help me if I have to drag him up here by the ear.”

He would, too, Carter thought with a grin as LeBeau dropped through the bunkbed entrance.

LeBeau nodded to Kinch, who was monitoring radio transmissions. Kinch gestured down a hallway toward Newkirk’s wardrobe and sewing room. 

There he was. Standing behind a rack of costumes, trying to look busy. “Newkirk! You’re supposed to help me with the stove!” He pushed his way around the rack and stopped in his tracks. A grin came over his face as he shook his head.

”Mon dieu, can’t you control yourself even a little bit, Pierre? At least wait until you’re in bed like the rest of us.”

There was Newkirk, squeezing one out into a Luftwaffe uniform. 

“I’m not wearing that one,” LeBeau said, continuing his harangue.

”Oh sh-sh-shut up and let me fffinish,” Newkirk said, continuing to pump after LeBeau’s interruption nearly cheated him out of the fruits of eight minutes of active fantasizing. “I’m close.” He tipped his head back a little and moaned as his hand moved rapidly up and down his shaft. He stopped to spit in his hand and used it to cup his tip and massage it.

LeBeau stood by silently, stifling his amusement. This is what happened when women came to camp. Masturbation was already the camp’s No. 1 sport. Add a woman to the mix, and the young boys like Newkirk lost any pretense of self-control they may have had, scurrying into corners to go at themselves. Frauleins Hilda and Helga couldn’t set foot in the compound during exercise time or roll call without raising at least a 21-gun salute. Thank God for baggy trousers, LeBeau thought with a sly smile, his mind wandering for a moment to his lovely Marya. Mmmm.

The line of thought was enough to give LeBeau a twitch and he briefly considered joining in with Newkirk. They’d wanked side by side often enough in the cooler to alleviate profound boredom. But no. He was a formerly married man of 29, for heaven's sake--seven years older than Newkirk and not in the habit of jacking off in musty tunnels. Somebody needed to be the grownup, and anyway he could see Pierre was closing in on his mark. LeBeau handed over his handkerchief, just in time. 

Newkirk came in a flurry of fast strokes, big shudders and moans, then grabbed the back of his sewing chair for support. As he caught his breath, he laughed.

”Thanks, mate. You saved me a b-bit of laundry.”

”That’s what friends are for,” LeBeau said coolly as Newkirk attempted to return the handkerchief. “Are you kidding me? Keep it! I don’t want it back!”

”Please don’t let this cum between us, Louis!” Newkirk joked as he stuffed the hanky into his pocket.

"Just don't blow your nose on that thing," LeBeau smirked, then laughed. “Tiger’s got you all wound up, hasn’t she? Don’t get too excited—I think she and the Colonel have fallen hard for one another.”

”I noticed,” Newkirk said as he wiped off his hands and buttoned up. He grinned gamely. “More power to him, I say. Who w-wouldn’t take a tumble with Tiger if he had a chance?”

And he believed it. He knew he’d have a go if Tiger ever have him a second glance, to put his hands in all her secret places. But Hogan had got there first. He'd have to settle for imagining he was in Hogan’s place as he explored every inch of her. 

That idea had been enough to get him up when he sought out the privacy of his sewing room. Being the Colonel, alone with Tiger. The power of that fantasy was intoxicating and when he took himself in hand he got hard fast as imagined the Colonel, all confidence, making Tiger moan.

But it was not the fantasy that got him over the finish line. It was a memory. A memory of the dark eyes that looked into his as if he was the only man there, of the firm hand that stroked his cheek and his neck when he was already fighting off an erection. A touch that had made him hard last night as he climbed into bed.

As he had pumped to an orgasm into Louis's handkerchief, Newkirk’s fantasy was focused squarely on how Colonel Hogan had touched him. What if that strong hand had lingered a bit longer, traveled a bit lower? He would have thought the same if Tiger had been the one to touch him, wouldn’t he? That didn’t make him queer, did it? 


	7. Busy Bodies

Hogan couldn’t get one thing out of his mind. Newkirk, with that hand in his pocket. He’d seen him going at himself before, but never quite so nonchalantly. How often did he do that?

Once he had taken note of it, he realized it was nearly constant. Most of the guys jacked off in bed late at night. Sometimes it would happen in the showers or the latrine. But with Newkirk and a few of the younger men it was practically a hobby. They masturbated night and day. 

On a dark evening at rollcall, Hogan caught him at it again. They’d been standing in the cold for nearly 40 minutes when Newkirk’s hand, deep in the pocket of his greatcoat, got quite busy.

LeBeau noticed too. “Pierre,” he hissed. “Can’t you just wait?”

Newkirk smirked. “Wait for what? I’m standing ‘ere minding mmmy own b-business, Louis.”

”You know perfectly well, _sale garçon. _Stop playing with yourself. It’s not right to do that in public. Didn’t anyone teach you that?”

Newkirk rolled his eyes, but he obeyed. LeBeau seemed to have some authority over him.

“Good,” LeBeau said. “Use some common sense, Pierre.”

”What are you talking about, Cockroach?” That was Colonel Klink, annoyed by the murmurings.

”Kommandant, he’s simply giving one of the younger men some advice on military comportment,” Hogan said. “Some badly needed advice,” he added, casting a smirk at Newkirk.

The British Corporal blushed, and Hogan suddenly felt flames licking inside him. He felt a surge of pleasure and excitement at seeing Newkirk suddenly shy. Suddenly Hogan felt himself beginning to rise. Unlike Newkirk, he couldn’t cover it in his tight Army trousers so he tried to will away the erection. Gradually, it worked, and he relaxed. Hopefully no one had noticed.

“Jesus, Robert,” he scolded himself. “You have to stop looking at him.” Newkirk was getting too deep under his skin. He couldn’t help but think about what Newkirk was doing, about how good it must feel. And he couldn’t help but feel conflicted about whether to let Newkirk indulge or whether he should put a stop to the behavior.

As Kline droned on, Hogan remembered the lecture the chief medical officer had delivered every six months about venereal disease. Masturbation in a grown man was a sign of weakness, he would say. “Although a childish habit, it does no real harm and does not lead to insanity. If you have this unfortunate habit, try to control it as a matter of pride.” He had snickered about it then, because who needed to jerk off? Hogan had plenty of women to keep him happy. But now, in a prison camp surrounded by men with healthy sex drives and no outlets, it seems like ludicrous advice. Newkirk was just a healthy young fellow who needed relief and knew how to get it.

As his mind drifted toward thoughts of sex, Hogan thought he wouldn’t mind seeing Newkirk blush like that again. He wouldn’t mind seeing what he was hiding in that pocket, how big it was. There were a lot of things he wouldn’t mind learning about Newkirk ... 

No, Hogan scolded himself. He had stop these thoughts now. He was a man, and a real man did not think such things about another man. No matter how brightly his eyes sparkled. No matter how curious he was.

He pulled Newkirk aside at the end of rollcall and led him into his office.

”What is it, Sir?” Newkirk was shifting from foot to foot, looking extremely worried. 

“What were you doing with you hand in your pocket, Newkirk?” Hogan demanded.

”Um, well, I j-j-just ....” Newkirk began. “I mean I was..”

”Abusing yourself,” Hogan said.

”Yes, sir,” Newkirk said, eyes to the ground, cheeks turning red. “Sorry, Sir.” Blimey, this was like being in school, caught fiddling with himself under the desk. 

Hogan sat heavily at the desk and scrubbed his hand over his face.

”Newkirk, this seems to be happening a lot,” he said. “How often are you, um, playing with yourself?”

”I d-d-don’t know, Sir. Three or ffffour?”

”Three or four times a week,” Hogan repeated.

”Um, well, no. Three or four times a day,” Newkirk replied. “Maybe five.” He was hanging his head in shame. “Sssorry.”

Hogan slapped his forehead. Yeah, that was a lot. “OK. Well, as your commanding officer I need to point out that that might be too much. Why are you... so busy?”

”I get bored, Sir. My mmmind w-wanders,” Newkirk said. “And, um, it fffeels g-good?”

”All right, well, no more hands in your pockets at rollcall, understood? And try to keep in mind that there’s a time and a place for things. Rollcall is definitely not the time or place for, um, masturbation.”

Newkirk’s eyes popped out at the big, clinical word. He seems to be filing it away.

“Masturbation. Yes, sir. When is the right time and place for masturbation?”

Hogan drummed his fingers. “Let’s see if you can just limit it to when you’re in bed, OK?”

”Yes, sir,” Newkirk sighed. “Mornings as well as night?” 

“If you must. Just... make sure it’s dark, OK?”

”Yes, sir, but if I need an extra sometimes...”

”Just ... try to keep it private, OK? It’s supposed to be private. And always clean up after yourself.” Hogan looked at Newkirk and sighed. What an unruly boy. “Dismissed, Newkirk,” he said wearily.

“Yes, sir, thank you, sir.” Newkirk nodded and exited. As he departed, Hogan’s eyes drifted down to Newkirk’s rear and followed him out the room. Oh, God, he looked good. Hogan’s hand drifted down to his crotch and he unbottoned his fly. He sighed and began stroking and wondering if this was how Newkirk liked it.


	8. Tiger Envy

It was a simple mission. Hogan, Carter and Newkirk were to meet with an Underground contact at the old horse barn 5 kilometers west of camp on the Bonnland Road and claim a detailed map of the new tire factory on the outskirts of Hammelburg. An army couldn't run without tires for its cars, trucks and vehicles. An economy couldn't function without transport. Take out what was expected to be the top producing tire factory in 500-mile radius and they could slow down the Axis. The map was essential to the detonation plan that Carter was devising.

The contact was to be Jack Sprat. They would be joined by another operative.

That operative turned out to be Tiger. She arrived just as Papa Bear's team did.

"Huh. The factory isn't even in her sector," Carter observed. "What's she doing here?"

"Do you really have to ask, Carter?" Newkirk tipped his head toward Colonel Hogan, who shot him a look of annoyance. 

"She's a senior agent. She goes where her services are required," Hogan said firmly.

"Well put," Newkirk muttered. 

:"What was that, Corporal?" Hogan asked. He hadn't caught the words, but the sarcastic tone did not escape him. 

"And well she should, Sir," Newkirk said brightly. "Hello, Love," he greeted Tiger. She patted him on the cheek and smiled. Blimey, he seemed to be getting a lot of those pats lately, and he wasn't sure how he felt about it. 

"It's not a social visit, Newkirk," Hogan said evenly, though he couldn't suppress a smile as Newkirk leaned in to whisper to Tiger and elicited a giggle from her.

All the men liked Tiger, but only Newkirk dared to flirt with her—and in front of Hogan, no less. LeBeau had taught him just enough French to get by passably, and he didn't stutter in French or German, which took all the embarrassment out of speaking to her. Plus he was particularly confident around women a few years older than himself, and Tiger was closer to LeBeau's age than to Newkirk's.

Normally Hogan would let him have his fun, because he knew Newkirk didn't stand a chance with Tiger. He was charming and handsome enough, but he was also too slight, too rough around the edges and absolutely too young for her. 

Right now, however, Hogan was having a little difficulty shaking last week's encounter with Tiger from his head. Not that he hadn't had a delicious and deeply relieving lovemaking session with the perky young Frenchwoman. It was just that Newkirk kept invading his thoughts that night and ever since. Hogan figured he must be feeling more jealous about keeping Tiger to himself that he had realized, and decided to rein Newkirk in. He and Tiger needed each other to get through this crazy war, and he didn't need a pesky kid brother popping up from behind the sofa every time they kissed or touched. 

"... and your hair looks lovely in this moonlight, Tiger. Isn't it a perfect night for dancing, Love?"

"Newkirk! You're not on a date!" Hogan stepped between Newkirk and Tiger and wrapped a protective arm around her. "You have to forgive Newkirk. He gets a little frisky when we keep him up past his bedtime."

"I was j-j-j-j-just asking," Newkirk sulked. "Being ffffriendly, like." Showing you how confident I can be, he added silently, just like you. Oh great. First the Colonel talks about me like I’m a child. Now I’m stammering in front of the one person who hadn't seen me do it. Newkirk could feel himself start to blush as his confidence crumbled.

Tiger noticed. "Colonel! Don't tease him! You're making him nervous." She smiled fondly at Newkirk, seeing exactly what was happening. Robert was jealous, and he was picking on that sweet boy.

"Oh, he's not nervous, Ma'am. He's just stuttering," Carter said, attempting to be helpful. "You probably haven't noticed he stutters because he usually speaks to you in French or German. But when he speaks English, it takes him a little more time to get through words because of the stutter. But he really works hard at it, and he's getting better and better, aren't you Peter?"  
  
Newkirk's head was down and his lips were pursed. He looked up and gave a small smile to Carter and to Tiger. "C-Carter's right, Tiger. I d-do st-st-st-stammer. N-not all the time, of course."

"Only most of the time," Hogan said sharply. Even he reeled at his angry tone. He shot Newkirk a look that said "enough," and Newkirk got the stinging message this time. 

"Righto, that's me told," Newkirk muttered. Hogan cut him another look, and he added, "Ssssorry, Sir." Carter and Tiger shot him sympathetic looks, and Newkirk’s heart sank. The last thing he wanted was anyone’s pity.

At that point, Jack Sprat entered the clearing, and trotted toward them. Hogan pushed open the barn door and ushered the agents and Carter inside for their meeting, his hand going to Tiger’s waist as he looked back pointedly at Newkirk.

Carter belonged inside; he would have questions about the factory that might not be answered by the map. Newkirk’s job was to stand guard outside, and he was relieved. His breath trembled as he fought back a sob, but couldn't keep the tears from rolling down his face. Out here, alone in the dark, as a harsh wind blew, he could allow himself to feel hurt and angry. He had about two minutes for that, and then he'd need to pull himself together and watch out for trouble.

  



	9. Man Down

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hogan makes a harsh comment at Newkirk's expense and is filled with regret. As they make their way back to camp, Hogan is so distracted by his thoughts that he notices too late that the team has stumbled into a German patrol.

Newkirk trailed behind Hogan and Carter on the long walk back to Stalag 13, maintaining an alert posture as they passed through the Hammelburg woods. Usually the Colonel would bring up the rear to get everyone home securely. But when Hogan emerged from the barn, he had noticed the streaks on Newkirk's face and instantly felt guilty. In a moment of weakness, he had embarrassed one of his men. He decided to give him some space now and talk to him later. Newkirk seemed genuinely relieved when Hogan asked him to play sweeper.

Now was not the time for berating himself, Hogan thought, but he couldn't help it. Of all the stupid things for him to comment on, it had to be Newkirk's stutter. He'd worked so hard to build trust with the feisty young Englishman, and then he deliberately said something to hurt him. Because he was jealous. Because he wanted Tiger to himself. It was unprofessional. It was unbefitting an officer. It was...

It was a three-man German patrol, no more than 100 paces in front of them. Hogan dodged into a thicket, and Carter quickly followed suit. But Newkirk, pacing them from behind, and not yet through a bend in the trail, hadn't a chance. 

"Halt! Halt!" a soldier cried out as he spied a man in civilian clothes traipsing through the woods. "Identify yourself!"

Newkirk dived into a hedge row and started crawling on his belly through thorns and shrubs. A shot rang out, then another, and another. Then all was silent.

Hogan had his foot on the back of a dead soldier, and his arm around the neck of one who was still very much alive. "Sorry, pal, wrong place, wrong time," he said as he snapped his elbow back and let the man drop to the ground. 

Carter had the third soldier on the ground, squirming and begging for his life as he trained a gun on him.

"Shut up," Carter said firmly as he kicked the man in the ribs. "Not another word, or you die too." The soldier whimpered in reply, but did as he was ordered. 

Hogan rushed up to him. "Keep him right where he is, and shoot if you have to. I'm going back to find Newkirk."

He dashed along the trail, shining his flashlight, unable to see exactly where Newkirk had crawled off to. Then he spotted him -- 15 yards off the road, huddled at the base of a tree, gripping his side. Hogan ran through thorns and brush and undergrowth to get to him.

"Did they get you? Where did they hit you?" He shone the light down on Newkirk. His face was a maze of scratches and cuts and he looked both terrified and relieved.

"Sir," he said, reaching up with one arm. His hands were as bad as his face, ripped and scratched from the thorns and brush.

Hogan knelt down in front of him. "It's all right. It's all right. Where are you hurt?"

Newkirk pulled a hand away from a spot just below his right ribs. "I think they just grazed me, Sir."

Hogan wasn't sure. The wound was pulsing blood. He set down his weapon, pulled off his jacket, and tugged off his shirt, ripping it into long sections and tying them together. Then he pulled Newkirk's shirt up and inspected the damage. 

The wound was a wide furrow, but not deep. Newkirk might have been right, except for the "just" part. It was an ugly wound, it was bleeding fast, and it had to hurt like hell.

"I'm wrapping it up," Hogan explained gently as he wound the fabric around Newkirk's torso. "I think you're right, the bullet didn't lodge inside you, but you've lost a lot of blood. Can you get up?"

Newkirk didn't have a chance to answer before he went white and slumped to the ground. Blood loss, Hogan realized. Suddenly he heard footsteps trotting toward him. He looked up.

"Kinch," he said. "Boy, am I glad to see you. We've got two bodies to dispose of, a prisoner to take and we've got a man down." He gestured at Newkirk.

"How bad is he?" Kinch asked as he crouched down beside the Englishman.

"The wound isn't awful, but he's lost a lot of blood," Hogan said as Newkirk started to shift and flicker open his eyes.

"Well, thank goodness for Olsen and Garlotti's surveillance, Sir," Kinch said. "They reported in to me, and I sent them out to move the bodies." He laid a hand on Newkirk's chest. "Hey, buddy. We've got you. You're gonna be OK."

Newkirk reached up to Kinch's neck automatically and held on as the larger man lifted him off the ground. "Kinch," he said. "Kinchy." Through a haze, he thought he was in the arms of his protector and just needed to make sure it was real.

"Hang on, pal. We'll have you back to camp in no time," Kinch said. "No more passing out, OK?"

"Righto, mate. I'll try to remember that," Newkirk replied in a shaky voice as Kinch carried him off. Yes, it was real. He was safe now.

A few paces behind, Hogan breathed a sigh of relief. If Newkirk was joking, he was going to be all right. He watched as Kinch carried him off, aware once again of their deep bond of trust and kicking himself again for deliberately putting Newkirk in his place. He shook the negativity from his head and concentrated on getting everyone back to camp. He reached Carter with the soldier, still on the ground.

"On your feet," he said roughly. "You're going on a nice vacation to England."


	10. Rescue Me

"Get Wilson! Now!" Hogan commanded as the men descended into the tunnel. He had dragged their prisoner with him and shoved him roughly into a corner. Carter and Kinch were behind them, maneuvering a severely weakened Newkirk through the narrow space.

"Who is it,_ mon Colonel_? What's the injury?" LeBeau asked as he prepared to sprint through the underground maze.

"Newkirk. Shot in the side. Hurry," Hogan replied. "And LeBeau?"

"Yes, _mon Colonel_?" There was a definite quiver in the Frenchman's voice. 

"He's conscious, but losing blood. Hurry. We can still save him," Hogan said.

LeBeau gulped hard and took off. Pierre. His oldest friend in this hell-hole. He would not die if Louis LeBeau had anything to say about it.

Olsen and Garlotti stood guard over the Kraut as the other men wrestled Newkirk through the barracks and onto Colonel Hogan's bottom bunk. Wilson arrived quickly, with LeBeau hot on his heels. The sight of blood sickened LeBeau, often to the point of fainting, but this time was different. He was determined to be beside his friend, blood or no blood.

Hogan's main team had crowded into his office to make sure their fallen comrade would be all right. Wilson looked up, sighed, and waved them back. He didn't need an audience, but he knew they weren't going to leave unless they absolutely had to. Wilson carefully washed his hands at Hogan's sink, then asked LeBeau for a basin of hot water and clean cloths to begin his work.

Wilson performed a quick check of Newkirk's vital signs. "His pulse is a little weak, but he's hanging in there," he muttered to himself. "Breathing's rapid. He's lost some blood."

"The bullet just grazed him, Wilson. How much blood can he lose from that?" Hogan asked.

"Leave the doctoring to me, willya, Colonel? The bullet's still in there. It's lodged between two ribs. I can feel it, and I'm going to have to get it out."

Hogan gulped. "We carried him back, not knowing..."

"You did what you had to do, Sir," Wilson grumbled. "Look, get everyone out of here. Can you stay and assist me, Colonel? It's going to be a little messy, and it's going to hurt, but it'll be worse if we leave it in."

"Of course," Hogan said.

'Well, don't waste time, Colonel. Scrub in," Wilson said, in the tone only he could use with their commanding officer. "Soap and hot water up to your elbows for three minutes. LeBeau will help you. I need to do a surgical scrub too, LeBeau, but take care of the Colonel first. Kinch, can you round up some rubbing alcohol and iodine? Now the rest of you, wait outside. Your friend'll be OK, but we've got to get through this procedure."

XXX

It took all of Hogan's weight to hold Newkirk down when Wilson cut into him, and every ounce of his strength to keep him from flailing and squirming. 

"How much longer, Wilson?" Hogan asked. "He's in agony." Newkirk had tipped over the edge from feeling pain to deep, gulping sobs as Wilson probed his wound, trying to extract the bullet.

"I'd be shocked if he wasn't crying," Wilson said matter-of-factly. "This hurts like a son of a bitch. I'll be done when I'm done. Just hold him down. Newkirk, try to keep still. I know it's damn near impossible, but try."

"I am trying," Newkirk shouted. "Fucking, fucking hell."

"Got it. Got it. OK, soldier. Settle down, son. The worst is over," Wilson said. "Well, except for the alcohol."

He took a thimble-full of alcohol and poured it into the wound. Newkirk screamed and finally passed out.

"Why the hell did you do that, Wilson? That was cruel," Hogan snapped.

Wilson shook his head slowly, defiantly. “Colonel, we're working in primitive conditions here. The alcohol will kill the germs, and the faster we get it in the wound, the better his chances of avoiding infection," Wilson said. His usual strident tone gave way to a near whisper as he continued. "I'm sorry, Sir, but we don't have anesthetics here. You don't think I like operating this way, do you? I just put this kid through agony. He's going to hate me for it, but at least he stands a decent chance of recovering."

Hogan sat at the head of the bed, watching Newkirk sleep while Wilson stitched him up. He scrubbed a hand over his exhausted eyes. "Sorry, Wilson," he said quietly. "I know you're doing your best with what you have to work with. You really think he'll be all right?"

"Yeah, he should make it. If you can get a penicillin drop, that would really help, Sir."

"We'll arrange it. What should we expect while he recovers?"

"Tonight? Pain. Probably more tears. Just stay with him, Sir, and keep him comfortable. I'll leave you some aspirin," Wilson said. He continued, "Breathing might be a strain, but most patients manage to get the air they need. Make sure he's drinking plenty of water. I'll be back to see him in the morning. I'll tell Klink that Newkirk's developing pneumonia. That'll explain the breathing difficulties and keep the Krauts away. Watch for fever."

Hogan stayed by Newkirk's bedside. In the small hours of the night, Newkirk shifted in the bed and woke up with a start. Hogan grasped his hand tightly.

"It's OK, Newkirk. Uh, Peter. I'm here. You're going to be OK."

"Colonel?" Newkirk said softly.

"Yes, it's me," Hogan said. "Shhh. Just rest." He smoothed back the hair on Newkirk's forehead and was surprised when the patient began to tremble.

"What's wrong?" Hogan asked. "Are you in pain? Do I need to get Wilson?"

Tears were coursing down Newkirk's face. "Ssssssorry, Sir. Sssssorry. I was st-st-st-st-stupid. St-stupid."

"No. No, no, no," Hogan said. "It was my fault. Not yours, Newkirk. I was uh.... look, we'll talk tomorrow, but you didn't do anything wrong."

"T-T-Tiger only fffancies you, Sir," Newkirk said. "I was j-j-j-j-ju, j-j-j-ju..."

"Shh. I know," Hogan smiled. "You were flirting with my girl, you little stinker. And she was falling for you."

"J-j-just trying to get your attention, Guv," Newkirk said sleepily. "W-w-wanted you to notice mmme."

"What? What do you mean?" It was too late. Newkirk had drifted back to sleep. Hogan was suddenly breathless and hot, and felt as if the room was spinning. He steadied himself with a hand on Newkirk's bedside until the heat died down. He stared down at the young man on the bunk below him. Long, dark eyelashes, wet with tears, brushed his pink cheeks. His skin, though badly scratched, looked soft, his bottom lip plump. His breathing was light, punctuated by an occasional hitch, as if he was still crying inside. Hogan stroked his cheek as he slept, then leaned down and pressed his lips to the young man's forehead.

"Sleep, Peter," he said softly. "I'm right here. I'm not going anywhere."


	11. Standoff

“The wound looks good. He’s got a little bit of a fever,” Wilson said. “One hundred point six.” He looked down at Newkirk and, of all things, smiled. “That’s pretty common, son. Nothing to worry about.” He tucked a blanket around his patient and continued. “You’ll recover quickest if you listen to LeBeau over here. Rest in bed and drink plenty of water. You eat whatever LeBeau gives you,” he added, shaking a finger. “You need your strength.”

Newkirk looked up and just nodded. He was all hesitancy now, speaking little, communicating mostly through gestures, and trembling ever so slightly.

”I know you’re still in pain, and I’ll give you something for it tonight when you go to sleep. Aspirin until then,” Wilson said. “You let Colonel Hogan know if you need anything stronger.” He looked up to lock eyes with Hogan. They’d already had this conversation. A shot or two of brandy would help dull the pain and help Newkirk sleep.

Newkirk saw Hogan standing there but couldn’t bring himself to look up. Ever since he regained consciousness, that scene with Tiger kept replaying itself in his head. He was showing off for the Colonel, enjoying Tiger’s attention. Women always liked him; he wanted his Guv to see that. But he’d only succeeded in annoying Hogan, and the Guv snapped at him. Then his stammer kicked in—right there in front of the girl he was trying to impress, his smooth words becoming a jumble. Carter tried to bail him out in his usual earnest way, and Newkirk tried to explain himself to Tiger. That was when Hogan seized his words and twisted. It hurt like a kick in the balls. And it was so embarrassing. Tiger not only saw him stammer; she saw just what Hogan thought of him. Then like a bleeding fool, he’d stood guard and cried.

That would teach him to trust an officer. A bleeding Yank officer. Where had his common sense gone? He’d allowed himself to think that Hogan saw him as something special, picked him deliberately for his team because he, Peter Newkirk, had something to offer. He was worth the trouble. He was intelligent and versatile and quick witted, even if his words sometimes tripped him up. Now he knew better. When push came to shove, he was nothing, like he’d always been. The Colonel could push him aside with a few harsh words, cleverly chosen for their ability to hurt. And then, recklessly lead them all into a trap.

Wilson had departed, but Hogan was still standing there as Louis fussed over Newkirk. He watched as Newkirk smiled wanly at LeBeau as he adjusted the blankets and plumped a pillow that had miraculously appeared. “I’ll be back with your breakfast,” LeBeau said as he perched on the bedside. “You heard Wilson—you must eat.” He laid a hand on Newkirk’s cheek.

”Thanks, mate,” Newkirk said softly. “I am hungry. Could I have tea instead of coffee?” Tea was his comfort.

”Of course. I’ll ask Hanrahan to make it. He does it just the way you like it.”

”Odd for an American,” Newkirk laughed. But LeBeau was right.

”Irish-American,” Hogan said, taking the seat LeBeau had vacated as he breezed out the door. He smiled down at Newkirk, but the Englishman did not meet his gaze. He bit his lip and took a keen interest in the tassels on the blanket.

”How are you feeling? Besides hungry.” Hogan asked, keeping his voice cheerful.

”I, I, I’m fffffine, Sir,” Newkirk said. He shrugged. 

Hogan took the hand that had clutched his all night and massaged the palm with his thumb. Newkirk tried to tug it away, but Hogan held it firmly.

”Look at me,” Hogan said. “Come on, look at me.”

Newkirk stopped fighting and let himself feel that strong hand closing around his. How good that hand had felt when it touched his cheek, his neck. How strong. He was tentatively raising his eyes to meet Hogan's when LeBeau bustled through the door. Fast as a cat, Newkirk withdrew his hand from Hogan’s grip and offered LeBeau his most dazzling smile. “Is that bacon? Where did you get that, mate.”

”Schultz. He’s got a soft spot for you, _mon pote_,” LeBeau. 

“Schultz IS a soft spot. All 300 pounds him,” Newkirk quipped. “One gigantic mmmarshmallow. You know what I don’t understand?”

”What?” LeBeau asked.

”How did a big softy like him ever get st-stiff enough to have ffffive kids? Answer me that!”

”Pierre! Not before breakfast!” LeBeau went helpless with laughter as Newkirk launched into a witty commentary on Schultz as roly-poly lover. “You have no gratitude,” he laughed. “He is so kind to bring you bacon and eggs. Eat up.” He tried to bring a forkful of scrambled eggs to Newkirk’s mouth, but the Englishman snatched it away.

”Cor, I’m not crippled, Louis! I’ll fffeed meself! Anyway,” he added with a twinkle, “You might ask yourself why he was so eager to part with that nice... soft... slippery bacon,” Newkirk said. “What had he done with it?” He was off and running again, with a vivid, hilarious and utterly crude description of manly uses for uncooked bacon. He was so busy entertaining LeBeau that he gradually gave over the fork and accepted bites from him.

Hogan watched as the two young men laughed and joked, and took in the improbable spectacle of the tough young street urchin letting LeBeau feed him. He was relieved that Newkirk was so lively, yet dejected to be left out of it. Newkirk was happy and unguarded in LeBeau’s presence and wasn’t stuttering at all. Not for LeBeau. Only for him.

”Hanrahan must have your tea ready,” Hogan said. “I’ll go get it.”

Newkirk stopped chattering with LeBeau long enough to watch Hogan leave with his shoulders slumped. Good, Newkirk thought. Maybe now he’d know how it felt to be hurt.


	12. So Close, So Far

By mid-afternoon, Newkirk’s fever had climbed. “One-oh-three point six, Colonel Hogan,” Wilson said with a worried look on his face. “Any chance of getting that penicillin?” Outside, the wind was howling. A storm was coming.

”Not in these conditions,” Hogan said. “They need clearer skies for a precision drop. London says maybe tomorrow.”

Newkirk let out an annoyed grunt. He’d gone from feeling cheerful to full-on misery in a matter of hours. He wanted LeBeau or Kinch, but they were out on a work detail.

”What’s the matter, Newkirk?” Wilson asked solicitously. “Do you need anything?”

”Where are my mates?” 

“They’ll be back in a couple of hours,” Hogan said.

”You’re stuck with the Colonel until then, son,” Wilson said, ringing out a washcloth in Hogan’s sink. He handed it to Hogan and gestured toward the bed. “He’ll take good care of you.”

Stuck? Truer words were seldom spoken, Hogan thought. Newkirk clearly didn’t want him here. He held up the washcloth, and Wilson was answering him before he could even ask his question.

”Cool him down. Let’s get that nightshirt off, Newkirk.” Before Newkirk could protest, he had it over his head. Newkirk was instantly embarrassed. He had nothing on under it, not even a pair of undershorts, because Wilson had stripped everything off for his operation. “I’ll fill a basin of water for you,” Wilson was telling Hogan. “You just bathe him, but make sure you cover him up as you go so he doesn’t start shivering, and don’t get his bandages wet.”

Great. Robert E. Hogan, registered nurse, Hogan thought glumly as he set about his job.

As the door slammed behind Wilson, Hogan smiled tightly and pulled the bed sheet up to Newkirk’s chest, tucking it under his armpits. With a sigh, he started his work. Gently he stroked Newkirk’s forehead, his cheeks, his jawline, his neck with the cool cloth. Newkirk was tense, and Hogan was too, but he found the rhythm of his task surprisingly relaxing. “Close your eyes and rest,” he told Newkirk in a soft tone as he repeated his path, taking his time as he tried to soothe the fever.

Against all instinct, Newkirk obeyed. He was feeling so feverish and sore, and Hogan was speaking to him so gently, so sweetly. When Hogan murmured “try to sleep,” Newkirk could no longer resist. Strong, confident hands were sweeping methodically over his face and neck, and skillful fingers were working down from jaw to his chest, the steady rhythm lulling him to sleep. As his eyes dropped shut, Newkirk felt safer and more secure than he had in ages.

Hogan folded the sheet down to just above Newkirk’s bellybutton and saw the angry purple bruise that had spread across his right ribs from the site of his injury. He squeezed out the washcloth and gingerly glided it along its course. His arms. His hands. His chest. His stomach. He was absorbed in his job and was on a mission to make the sick young man feel better. It seemed to be helping, as Newkirk was soon breathing deeply, taking soft, refreshing breaths.

As Hogan’s hands glided over him, Newkirk felt his anger falling away. The Guv was being so kind. He didn’t have to do this. Maybe he wanted to.

Both men were jolted from their thoughts by Newkirk’s sudden intake of breath. “Ow,” he said.

”Newkirk! Did I hurt you?”

”N-n-n-n-n-n-no. Th-that was j-j-just me. I took a deep bbbbbbbreath and it hurt my ribs.”

”We can stop,” Hogan said.

”No!” Newkirk said. “No,” he repeated more calmly. “It’s all right to k-k-k-keep going. Pl-pl-pl...”

”Please?” Hogan filled in kindly.

”Yes, pl-please,” Newkirk replied. He latched a hand onto Hogan’s arm. “Please take care of me.” He hoped he didn’t look like he was going to cry, but he thought he might. Between the fever and the pain, and his mixed up feelings about where he stood with Colonel Hogan, he was so confused.

Take care of me? Hearing those words from Newkirk, Hogan felt like he’d just had the wind knocked out of him, and it took everything in him to control his expression. Inside, he wanted to cry at Newkirk’s unexpected display of vulnerability. But he needed to be strong.

Hogan summoned his confidence. “Of course I’ll take care of you,” he said in the kindest voice he could muster, channeling the way his parents had spoken to him as a little boy. “We’re going to get this fever down and you’ll be good as new in a couple days. You’ll see.” He put down the washcloth and took both of Newkirk's hands in his own. “You’ll be OK.”

Newkirk gave him a watery smile. “Promise?”

Hogan’s hand went to Newkirk’s cheek, his heart breaking at how young his corporal sounded. Newkirk leaned into the touch and Hogan repeated, “Promise. Trust me.”

”I do trust you, Sir,” Newkirk replied, smiling sleepily. Hogan could see a twitch below his waist, under the thin bedsheet, and suddenly was hit by a wave of desire. He wanted nothing more right now than to touch Newkirk, to feel the young man who laid on the bunk under his eyes. His hand moved lower and hovered. Was he going to do this? How would Newkirk react? He was sick; it was wrong. Yet from the vulnerable look he had seen on Newkirk’s face, he thought he knew the answer. As he watched Newkirk’s eyes flutter shut, he was sure the corporal wanted connection, affection. Wanted him. He lowered his hand toward its destination.

That was when the door flung open.


	13. In Sickness and in Health

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As Newkirk lies desperately ill, LeBeau appears and reminds Hogan that Newkirk looks up to him.

“Colonel Hogan! How’s Newkirk doing?” It was LeBeau, unwinding his scarf from his neck and tugging off his coat. “I bumped into Wilson when we were getting out of the truck. He said...”

”You’re back early,” Hogan said, pulling his hands back to himself. He stood and crossed his arms. “His fever jumped. Wilson asked me to cool him down.” He looked down at Newkirk, who was now breathing softly and evenly as he slept. 

“They brought us back to stay ahead of the storm,” LeBeau expected. “Heavy rains are expected.” He turned to look at Newkirk. “We must cover him. He’ll get a chill,” LeBeau said, sliding effortlessly into the role of caregiver to his closest friend, as he had done many times before. “I’ll bring his blanket.” He looked around. “Where is his nightshirt?”

”It needs to be washed,” Hogan said, pointing to the item on his chair. 

LeBeau nodded. “Well, we should get some other clothes on him. He doesn’t like sleeping naked.” He looked up at Hogan with a grin. “He is shy about the strangest things.”

”Shy? Newkirk” Hogan repeated. “Those are two words I wouldn’t put together.”

”Oh, yes, terribly shy about some things, Sir. He covers it up well, but he gets embarrassed so easily.” He exited and returned with a small pile of clothes and a blanket. He sat beside Newkirk and jostled his shoulder.

”Pierre, Pierre,” he said. He ran a hand across his forehead. “Not too warm.” He shrugged. “Can you help me lift him, Sir? Carter had a t-shirt he could use.”

Soon, Hogan’s hands were on Newkirk's warm, clammy skin, lifting him just enough so LeBeau could slip on the shirt. His hands gently supported his torso, avoiding the bruises and the bandage.

”Shorts now,” LeBeau, uncovering him. He snickered at what he saw. 

”Mon Dieu, it is constant with him,” LeBeau said, shaking his head in mock seriousness. “When he’s awake; when he’s asleep. _Il a la trique_.” He smiled and signaled to the Colonel to help him. Together, they slid a pair of shorts onto Newkirk as he slumbered. 

“It’s the age,” LeBeau shrugged as he arranged the sheet and blanket over Newkirk. “He has one thing on his mind.”

”How old is he again?” Hogan stood over LeBeau as he fussed with the blankets. 

”Twenty-one for two more months. He has practically grown up in this camp. I taught him to shave.”

”Seriously?” Hogan said.

”Mostly, yes. He had shaved before but he didn’t have much beard and hardly knew what he was doing. His father and brothers never showed him.”

”No wonder he looks up to you,” Hogan said, dropping a hand on Louis’ shoulder.

”Oui, he does. And he lets me look after him. He doesn’t let many people that close. Just me. Kinch. And of course, you, Sir.”

Hogan was surprised to hear himself included. “Me? He’s hardly close to me.”

LeBeau look at him, stunned. “You are joking, aren’t you? I’ve seen how he looks at you.”

Hogan gulped and could feel his stomach flip. “How does he look at me?” he asked, forcing out a laugh.

“Like he would follow you straight into hell.”


	14. Lost in Thought

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hogan rationalizes his feelings as he and LeBeau work side by side to care for Newkirk .

Newkirk slept deeply until after supper, when he began to toss again. LeBeau was at his side when Hogan ushered Wilson in. Shaking under the blankets, Newkirk looked up woefully as Wilson began to examine him. Hogan hovered behind Wilson and kept a close eye on the proceedings. Newkirk laid there weak as a kitten, limbs stretched out in surrender. 

“One-oh-four,” Wilson said. He removed Newkirk’s t-shirt, undid the bandages and gently probed the red, angry wound. LeBeau was suddenly at his side with a basin of water. Wilson dipped in a cloth and cleaned the wound, making Newkirk wince. LeBeau crouched at his side and patted his hand, then lifted it, kissed it and pressed it to his own cheek. He murmured softly and stroked his hair, and Newkirk relaxed a little.

Wilson dried the wound and dabbed it with alcohol, making his patient squirm. Hogan winced, seeing how badly it stung, and wished he was the one holding Newkirk’s hand. As the sting subsided, Wilson patted the wound with yellow sulfa powder, then re-bandaged it. The medic wiped away the fresh tears from Newkirk’s cheeks with his thumb. “Hurts like a son of a bitch,” he said. “Sorry, son, there’s no way around it.”

Newkirk nodded, turning his tear-stained face toward the wall as Wilson rose and pulled Hogan aside. While LeBeau crouched by his friend’s side and coaxed him to smile, Hogan moved across the room.

”If you and LeBeau could cool him down, that’d make him more comfortable,”Wilson was saying. “Same as yesterday, just wipe him down with lukewarm water. About a half an hour of that usually helps. Now, can you handle a syringe, Sir?”

”I’ve had advanced field first aid training, so yes,” Hogan said. “But what...”

”Good. I’ll prepare a dose of a sedative. Intramuscular. Buttocks is usually best. Give it to him around 11. It’ll take the edge off the pain and help him sleep.” Wilson looked up to lock eyes with Hogan. “But Sir, the penicillin is what he really needs.”

”If skies clear tomorrow, we’ll have the drop after midnight.”

Wilson sighed. “Damn weather. A lot can happen in 24 hours.”

**XXX**

As he and LeBeau worked to cool Newkirk off, Hogan tried to concentrate on the task and not the man on the receiving end of it. He was so sick, so frail. Hogan felt angry at himself for his weakness. Where had that burst of lust toward another man come from? He’d never had such feelings before. Worse yet, how had he nearly given in to it? Newkirk was his responsibility, under his command. God, he needed a good lay, or at least a cold shower. He needed some time with Tiger or any woman if he was so wound up that he had nearly taken advantage of a sick, vulnerable boy.

LeBeau was at Newkirk’s ear, still whispering as Hogan mopped the corporal’s neck and chest. “Rest, rest, _Frerot_,” LeBeau said gently. “We are taking care of you, Colonel Hogan and I. You will feel better soon. Shh. Good boy.” Hogan imagined himself leaning so close, babying Newkirk, giving sweet comfort, then pushed the thought away.

Hogan’s thoughts flickered back to the afternoon and that look Newkirk had given him. There was such sweetness in it, such need. Hogan felt protective of all his men, but somehow he had let Newkirk become special. He was affected by him. He was drawn to Newkirk, the clever, wily one. He went weak when he saw the man under the mask—a very young man with a strong need for and devotion to a leader. And he was that leader. Maybe it would have happened to anyone in his place, anyone just old enough to be a father figure to a boy with a troubled home life. That was it. It was his own fault for not drawing a line and being firmer with Newkirk. He was just weak.

Surely he had misread that little bulge of arousal he’d seen in Newkirk, appearing under the sheet when he had his hands on him. It was simply as LeBeau said: Newkirk was a young buck. Erections were part of the package. Guys woke up with them; that was simple biology. No, it didn’t mean anything. It wasn’t a reaction to him. It didn’t mean Newkirk wanted him. He and Newkirk weren’t like that; they loved women. Good. Good. It was just a fluke of timing that he saw Newkirk when he was aroused. It was less complicated that way.

While Hogan’s mind wandered and LeBeau cosseted his sick young friend, Newkirk’s breaths grew steady and he slumbered. LeBeau, a hand gently stroking Newkirk’s head, looked over at Hogan. “You are deep in thought, Sir,” he said. “Don’t worry. We will get him through this.”

He smiled at LeBeau, grateful to be the recipient of a reassurance for once. “We will. We have to,” Hogan said as he squeezed out a wash rag. “We need him.”


	15. The Things We Fear

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> As a thunderstorm strikes, Hogan and Kinch soothe a confused Newkirk. Kinch urges Hogan to let Newkirk sow his wild oats when he's feeling better.

Peter Newkirk worked hard to keep his fears under control, he really did. For years, dogs had been at the top of the list, but LeBeau had helped him understand how to behave around them and he was confident if LeBeau was with him in the dog pen. Darkness was a perpetual challenge. He might go off jauntily to the cooler to impress his mates, but he trembled all night in the clammy, pitch dark and ground his teeth at the scratching of rats behind the walls.

And then there were thunderstorms.

Thunderstorms were the worst because you could feel them building. First the perceptible change in temperature, then the ruffle of leaves and the growing ferocity of a howling wind. A cigarette or ten would help steady his nerves, but if the boom of thunder and the crash of lightning happened at night, as it so often did, he would be out of his bunk, looking for LeBeau or Kinch. “The rain is blowing through these bleeding walls onto my face,” he would say. “Spare a corner of your bunk for a mate?” Or, “I thought you might need some company down here.” They both understood without explanation exactly what was troubling Newkirk, and he would fall asleep with a strong arm around him or at least a friend nearby.

This day, shortly after midnight, through his fever, there was no disguising what he felt as the storm crashed and boomed outside: Abject terror. He had jolted awake and tumbled to the floor as the sky lit and rumbled. Disoriented by the sedative he’d had an hour earlier and still in pain, he was soon crying, clutching his aching side and crawling for the door in search of a friend when Hogan dropped down from the top bunk. 

“Whoa, whoa, what’s going on? You need to stay in bed,” Hogan said. “Come on, come on. Up now.”

”W-w-w-where my mmmates?” Newkirk stuttered.

“They’re OK. They’re asleep. Shh.” Hogan tugged him to his feet and steered him back to the bunk. He sat on the bunk and pulled Newkirk down to sit beside him and carefully checked to see if the fall had disturbed his wound. Newkirk sat groggily, cringing as the storm raged. Hogan, satisfied that he hadn’t hurt himself, coaxed him to lie down, which he did. But he kept flinching at every flash and boom, and finally the Colonel understood and took Newkirk’s head onto his lap. He fought the urge to interfere when Newkirk sleepily nibbled the tip of his thumb. He had witnessed this childish behavior once before and was disturbed enough by it to mention it to Wilson. He remembered what Wilson had said: Ignore it. Regressive behaviors can happen to young men under great stress. He’s just calming himself in private. It’s not as though he’s walking around the compound that way.

“Shh, shhh, you’re going to be OK. It’s just thunder and lightning. It’ll stop soon,” he soothed. Newkirk’s trembling soon slowed and his breathing evened out. Hogan wrapped a protective arm around him and felt his forehead. He was hot, but not as bad as he had been. The thunder boomed again, and he heard a rap at the door. “Colonel?” said a familiar voice. 

“Come in,” Hogan said. He was glad to see Kinch. The tall sergeant crouched by the bed and laid a hand on Newkirk’s chest. He was breathing softly now, and sleeping again.

”I was down below and thought I heard a thud,” Kinch said.

”He fell out of bed and didn’t know where he was. He had a sedative an hour ago. I think it knocked him for a loop,” Hogan replied.

”That would do it,” he said, rubbing a hand over Newkirk's arm. “He has trouble sleeping through storms.” 

“I noticed,” Hogan said. He went quiet for a moment. “We need that penicillin.”

”He’s fought off infections without it,” Kinch shrugged. “He’s pretty tough.”

”I thought he was tough, too. But he was just crawling on the floor crying, and... well, look at him,” Hogan said, gesturing toward the exhausted young man’s face. “I’m starting to have my doubts. I um... well, that’s how he ended up here. He couldn’t sleep.” 

Kinch took in the sight of the Colonel cradling Newkirk's head in his lap. Hogan wasn't accustomed to playing the part of a doting parent, and Kinch could see he looked vaguely embarrassed. But the role suited him and seeing him care for the wounded Corporal reminded Kinch of how deep Hogan's concern for his men ran.

"Don't have any doubts about Peter, Sir. He really is tough as nails," Kinch said firmly. "He just needs to let it out sometimes around people he trusts. He won’t fuss out there, Sir. Only in private, with you or me or LeBeau.”

”And Carter? Olsen?”

”No, definitely not Olsen. He’d never let Newkirk live it down. Carter, maybe, eventually. Newkirk hasn’t figured him out yet. He thinks of him as a kid.”

”That’s rich. Carter’s older than he is,” Hogan said with a grin.

”Yes, in years. Not in experience,” Kinch said.

Hogan nodded. “I can see that.” He brushed Newkirk’s hair from his eyes and gently separated his thumb from his mouth now that he was sleeping soundly. “Sometimes all his toughness just disappears.” Worry had crept back into his voice.

Kinch watched and smiled, pleased to see the Colonel at ease enough to hold Newkirk as he slept. “He told me a couple months ago on a night like this that he’d hated thunder and lightning ever since he was a kid. Seems his old man threw him out of the house as punishment and he spent three nights on the street, sleeping in alleys and on fire escapes. It was summer, and the storms were ferocious. He’s never slept through thunder or lightning since.”

”Jesus,” Hogan said. “How could a parent do that? Even when I was an obnoxious teenager, my father never pushed me out the door.”

”He wasn’t a teenager. He was 8,” Kinch said. The number landed like a ball of lead on a sheet of glass. 

“Eight?” Hogan said incredulously. “Eight?” His arms tightened around the young man slumbering on his lap. He looked down at him, and could still see the traces of the child’s face that had been there just a few years earlier: Fuller cheeks, softer brows, smoother skin. He briefly entertained the urge to slip Newkirk's thumb back into his mouth.

“Didn’t anyone ever take care of him? What was wrong with his damned family?” There was a hitch in Hogan’s voice as he asked the questions. They weren’t for Kinch; they were for God himself.

”Not like they should have,” Kinch responded quietly. “His sister tried.”

They sat for a few minutes until Kinch began again. “Colonel, with a lot of guys, if they acted scared once in a while, I’d sit ‘em down and talk it through and see if we couldn’t fix it. With Newkirk, I just ... well I pull him close, and let him hang onto me as long as he needs to. Then he pulls back and we don’t need to say anything about it. It’s like he got what he needed—he drew some strength from me and now he can go on. It’s the same with him and Louis, and now it’s the same with him and you, Sir. Guys like Olsen, they make fun of Newkirk for needing a human touch now and then. That’s only because they can’t imagine what it’s like to do without so much in their lives. Olsen didn’t have to fend for himself from the time he was a little boy.”

“His mother died when he was young,” Hogan said. He knew this much of Newkirk’s story, but he suspected Kinch knew more details.

”Yes. Tuberculosis. She was sick from the time he was a baby, went away when he was six, and died a year or two later.”

”His father never remarried?”

”Nope. He drank, and stole, and abused his children. And the big boys abused the little boy — they hurt him physically, and I think they did some things that, well...,” Kinch said softly. “I think they did some disturbing things to him from the time he was small, Sir,” he said. “He has two older brothers and a bunch of sisters. His oldest sister raised them all. He is completely devoted to her. She sounds like a saint, and probably was in his eyes.”

Hogan sighed. Yes, Newkirk had often mentioned his sister. She clearly cared for him, writing regular letters. “And yet think about him “ he said quietly. “He’s smart as a whip. He’s fast on his feet. He’s got a silver tongue, except...”

”Except when he stutters, yep...”

”...and he’s got incredibly valuable skills for our mission.” Hogan went quiet. “Kinch, I embarrassed him about his stutter. In front of Tiger.”

”I know. He told me.”

”What? When.. when...”

”Now you sound Like Newkirk, Colonel,” Kinch laughed. “It was yesterday morning. Right after you brought him his tea. Before we left on the work detail.”

”What, what, what did he say?”

”He was hurt. He was licking his wounds. He was scared you’d still be angry. What was he doing with Tiger anyway, Sir?”

”Flirting like mad,” Hogan said with a weak smile.

”Ah. Yeah. I could see that,” Kinch grinned. “You’re not jealous are you, Sir?” It was a bold question, but Kinch was not one to pull his punches.

”Jealous? Me? No! Not really. Well, maybe a little. He was being so damned... cute. I think she likes him a little.”

”She’s too old for him,” Kinch said decisively. “He might like a little fling with her, but it would never go anywhere. She is looking for a man with sophistication and maturity. Maybe when he’s better you should let him get it out of his system, Sir.”

”What do you mean? Set him up? With Tiger? Are you kidding me?”

“See? You are jealous. It’s just a suggestion, Sir. Change of pace for both of them. Maybe we wouldn’t have to listen to him enjoying himself every single night...”

”Too much information, Kinch.” Hogan grinned. “And for the record, I’m not jealous of Newkirk,” he said.

Nope. He was jealous of Tiger, getting her hands all over his boy.


	16. Tiger by the Tail

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> To Hogan's surprise, Tiger gets on board with Kinch's plan to settle Newkirk down.

The penicillin arrived, the fever broke, the gunshot wound healed. Within two weeks, Peter Newkirk was back on light duty; Within three, he was out on missions. 

Hogan got his much-needed rendezvous with Tiger during a mission 20 miles from Hammelburg. Officially, he was in Gestapo custody for questioning. In reality, he was in a hotel room by day, making love to Tiger, while they trained a new underground cell and led sabotage missions for four nights. Hogan was starting to ache a bit in the loins by day 3. He couldn’t remember the last time he’d fucked five times in a day, or three times in a single afternoon.

They were lolling in bed, Tiger’s head on Hogan thigh, her fingers and tongue unsuccessfully attempting to coax out another erection, when talk turned to Newkirk’s recovery. She’d give Robert another hour. Maybe two. 

“How is our Pierre doing?”

”He’s back, full of piss and vinegar,” Hogan said.

”Is that a compliment or an insult?” Tiger asked, kissing her way along the line of hair below Hogan’s bellybutton as he leaned back and sighed.

”He’s boisterous, rowdy and impossible. And wildly excited about turning 22 next month.”

”Twenty two? Mon Dieu, he is a baby,” Tiger laughed.

”He’s a baby? What does that make you? A very little girl?” Hogan grinned and propped up on an elbow. “How old are you, anyway?”

”Robert! Didn’t your mother teach you manners?”

”Oh, come on,” he said, wrestling her onto her back and straddling her. He went in for a long, deep kiss. “Your age, baby? I’ll tell you mine if you tell me yours,” he said playfully, grinding his pelvis into hers.

“My goodness, what kind of an intelligence man are you? I know _your_ age, Robert. You are 35 years old,” Tiger said with a glint in her eye. She pushed him onto his back and stroked him between his legs, running her fingers lightly over his taint. “Young enough to be still quite boisterous, as you say. With a little more staying power than a younger man.”

”You know it,” he said. “Anybody can finish fast. Keeping it up, that’s where experience and discipline come in.”

”Mm, discipline,” Tiger said, pinning his wrists to his side before letting go with a laugh.

”And you, Mademoiselle?”

Tiger smiled. “For you, I will say it. Twenty six. My birthday is next month, too, like Pierre’s.” She moaned as Robert climbed back on top and kissed and suckled her nipples.

”Hmmm. So you’re five years older than he is.”

”Oui.”

”What do you think of him? As a woman looking at a man, I mean.”

”Robert! Really? What a question!”

He kissed her again until she was breathless.

”I know he’s just a kid, but he has a crush on you.”

”Oh, he does? I would never have guessed! I know that, you fool!”

Hogan was back at her nipple, licking and nuzzling. “So what do you think of him?”

”Do you want my honest opinion?”

”Of course.” He wriggled up to face her. 

“Well he is young, of course. And not at all sophisticated. He can’t discuss art or music like you or LeBeau...”

”LeBeau? Who’s discussing LeBeau? You don’t like LeBeau, do you?”

“LeBeau is lovely. So is my brother Georges and my cousin Charles. He’s not my type.”

”Phew. you had me worried.”

”Oh, please. Don’t pretend to be insecure. It doesn’t suit you. But Pierre... Well, he is quite charming. Girls must fall for him easily. Such pretty eyes, a lovely smile. Gentle. I think he must be able to do interesting things with those clever fingers of his,” she laughed.

”So if he was five years older and a little better educated...”

”TEN years older. And who said educated? I said sophisticated. Maybe he can learn. Yes, he would be quite interesting if he was older, or if I set my sights on a younger lover. Of course, he’s not you, Robert...” she said, kissing his neck.

”No, he’s not, and don’t you forget it. Honey, I have a favor to ask you.”

”What is it?”

”He likes you so much... would you consider, just maybe one time...”

”Robert, you’re not serious!”

”I’m sorry, I’m sorry. I didn’t want to offend you.”

”I am not offended. I’m intrigued. I just can’t believe you’re saying this. You’re so ... so jealous of him!”

”What? I am not jealous!”

”Oh, really?” Tiger asked with an amused expression. “Then why did you deliberately embarrass him in front of me? I didn’t know he stuttered, and he clearly didn’t want me to know!”

”OK, I might have been a little jealous of how quickly he had your complete attention,” Hogan admitted with a pout. “I really hurt his feelings. I’ve been trying to find a way to make it up to him.”

“Hm. And did you make the little boy cry?” she asked teasingly. 

”I think I did, actually.”

Tiger gasped at that. “Oh, the poor baby. You are so cruel, Robert.”

”I messed up that time, Tiger.”

”Oh really? And now I’m your bargaining chip to get back in his good graces?” Tiger said, looking skeptical.

”Sort of,” Hogan said. “OK, yes.”

Tiger traced her fingers over Hogan’s chest and bit her lip. Finally she spoke up.

”OK, I will do it. But we need to be someplace comfortable. A home or a hotel.”

”I’ll square that away,” Hogan said.

”And he does have experience in these matters? He is not a beginner?” Tiger teased.

”Not as much experience as some people,” Hogan said, rubbing himself against Tiger’s thigh. “But he’s no beginner.”

”All right. For you. One night,” Tiger said. “Something to look forward to. A girl always likes a change of pace.”

”Speaking if a change of pace, Tiger,” Hogan said. He rolled onto his side and pulled her to face him, then flipped his position head to toe. “Soixante Noof?” he said.

”Your French accent is terrible,” Tiger giggled as Hogan spread her legs apart and tickled her with his tongue. “Say ‘Neuf,’ Papa Bear.”


	17. Mister, I'll Make a Man Out of You

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hogan tells Newkirk he's going on a solo mission with Tiger. The response is not what Hogan expected.

"Wot, j-j-j-j-just Tiger and me? Are you sure, Sir?"

Hogan was pacing in his office as Newkirk sat on his bottom bunk. "Of course I'm sure. It's a straightforward mission, and your skills are particularly relevant. Tiger knows her way around the Gestapo field office in Bad Kissingen. We need a cracksman like you to open the safe and get the files. The only thing is," he said, stopping in front of Newkirk, "it's an overnight stay. You'll enter the office at 5 A.M. with the morning service crew--you know, the ladies who make coffee and restock the supplies. You OK with sharing a hotel room with Tiger for a few hours the night before?"

Newkirk simply gawped. Hogan sat beside him on the bunk, smiled, and elbowed him in the ribs. "I don't mind telling you, she's a honey," he said with a leer.

At that, Newkirk turned bright red. Was Hogan suggesting what it sounded it? That he didn't mind the idea of Newkirk alone with Tiger? That a lonely young Englishman might .. get something out of it?

Finally, he mustered his words. "Y-y-you're having a go at me, aren't you, SsIr? This is a j-j-j-j-j, j-j-j-j, j-j-j-j..."

"Peter. Peter," Hogan said, his hand firmly on the Englishman's shoulder. "It's not a joke. You're up to the mission. And Tiger likes you. If you two happen to have a little time to ... relax, it's OK by me. Really. It’s not as if I’m married to her.”

Newkirk was silent for a moment, then rose to his feet, pacing in a fair imitation of his commanding officer. Finally, he erupted, standing in front of the bunk where Hogan was now lounging on his back, elbows behind his head.

"What kind of a cad do you take me for, Colonel Hogan? You and Tiger... you're an item, Sir. And anyway, I... I c-c-can't, I can't .... go... where... you've been, Sir. It wouldn't be proper!"

"Who says you have to go _there?_ Use your imagination, Newkirk!"

If he could have blushed a deeper red, Newkirk would have done so. "Colonel! I was raised in a C-Christian home! There are some things one does not do with a lady. I, I, I ... wwwwait, you said she likes me?"

"Mm-hm," Hogan said, with a smile curling his mouth upwards.

"Sh-sh-she told you this? Wh-when?"

"Last time we were in bed together. She said, and I quote, 'I'd like to take Newkirk to paradise.'"

"Cor blimey," Newkirk said, sinking back onto the bed next to Hogan. "I know I'm attractive to women and all, but that French bird is top of the class. What if Louis gets wind of this? Or has he already had her?" he asked, his natural skepticism rising back up along with another part of his anatomy.

"She only wants you, Newkirk," Hogan said. "She was very specific about that."

"I need to think about this," Newkirk said, driving his hand deep into his pocket.

"Think away. It should take you... what?" he asked, studying what Newkirk was doing in his pocket. "About eight minutes to finish up?"

"Probably five, Sir. Possibly less."

"Here's a handkerchief. Lock the door behind me," Hogan said. "Feel free to lie down--just not on my bunk. And Peter?"

"Sir?"

"Clean up after yourself."

"Righto, Sir."

****Newkirk emerged 10 minutes later, having finished himself off in only five minutes, but still requiring recovery and clean-up time. He shoved his handkerchief in his pocket, washed his hands in the main barracks room as a gesture of reassurance to all present, then took a seat beside Hogan at the table. 

"I'll do it," he said. "When do I leave?"

Hogan checked his watch. "2200 hours. That gives you four hours to recuperate. Is that enough time?"

"Four hours? Colonel, I'm not even 22. I could go at myself every 20 minutes and not need time to recuperate. How long does it take you older chaps to bounce back, anyway?"

"It's different with grownups," Hogan said defensively. LeBeau, puttering around the stove and eavesdropping, snickered. Newkirk just shrugged and lit a cigarette.

  



	18. Tonight’s the Night

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> When Peter and Tiger got together, they both learned a few things.

She slid her coat off and deposited it on a chair, then turned and smiled at her companion as he entered the room. He was the man, so he carried the luggage and the keys.

Not that there was much in that luggage. Only two sets of camouflage blacks and a few small items to help with the night she had planned. A bottle of wine. A bottle of lotion. Some condoms.

He set the case down on a rack and hovered uncertainly. The truth was he hadn't been in many hotel rooms. Bedsits didn't really count, not with nosy landladies ready to pounce. Most of the time he'd rather make it in an alleyway. Or, for comfort, a theater dressing room. There was always a costume or two to throw on the floor.

He watched her as she checked the windows and lowered the shades. "No patrols," she said. "Nothing to worry about." She turned and looked across the room at him, to where he stood with a bed between them. "We have five hours," she said in a sultry voice. "What would you like to do?"

He gulped, then managed to smile. He knew he had a good smile; it made him look confident even when he was terrified. Might as well use it.

"_J'ai des idées_," he said, matching her tone. He took off his overcoat and laid it on the chair with hers. Then he came around the side of the bed to face her. "May I?" he said as he touched her shoulder. "It's warm in here." He helped her slip off the jacket of her two-piece skirt suit. He admired the workmanship with a tailor's practiced eye.

She watched as he took the blue bouclé jacket in his clever hands and felt it. He tested the seams. He stroked the soft, loopy fabric and wondered how to keep a sewing machine needle from catching on the open weave. Then he opened the wardrobe. "These are mmmmen's suit hangers," he said with disappointment. "All wr-wrong for the shoulders. You'll go mad trying to get out the bumps they leave. Better not to hang it. I'll lay it out." He stretched it over a small table, arranging the body and arms with care.

Tiger watched, intrigued. Such thoughtful attention to detail. Such tender movements. She approached him as he patted the jacket and reached around his waist from behind.

He turned himself around to face her, his hands tentatively on her shoulders. "The Colonel sssaid things might happen between us. Are you sure, love? We don't have to do anything you don't want to do."

She looked up at him and ran a hand over his cheek. He had beautiful bone structure—high cheekbones and an almost elfin chin. Her thumb and index finger stroked it. He was handsome enough. But those eyes were his crowning glory, a light green-gray framed by long, dark lashes. Almond shaped with hardly any lid visible, like a Chinese. Most unusual.

"I'm very happy to be alone with you, Pierre," she said. She closed the space between them, rubbing seductively against him. "Kiss me," she breathed.

He complied, skillfully entangling his tongue with hers before working his way across her cheek and down her neck. She tugged at his suit jacket, ready to drop it to the floor when he stopped, took it off and hung it up. He took off his tie and shirt too, and meticulously hung them, then slid off his shoes. Tiger watched in fascination as he drew down his trousers, hung them up, then turned to her.

"Please, let's not let your lovely clothes wrinkle," he said, gesturing toward her blouse.

She smiled. "Undo me."

He blushed at that, but set to work. She rubbed her hand on his chest as he unbuttoned her blouse and slid down her skirt. Not much chest hair. Robert had more. Louis, so much more. Yes, Pierre was young, she thought as he laid out her clothes. And she thought she might enjoy this more than she realized.

"Rest," she commanded him as he returned to her side. He looked at her quizzically. "On the bed, silly," she said.

Obediently, he laid down, two fluffy pillows cushioning his head. God, this must be heaven. She straddled him and stared deep in his eyes, then found his lips with hers.

He was breathless as she pulled away and smiled at him.

"Oh, Tiger," he moaned, then collected himself. "You're... you're sure you want to do this ... wwwwith mmme?" he asked as she squeezed her thighs around his hips.

"What do you think?" Tiger replied as she licked his neck.

"I um.. I um... I um..."

"I've wanted you for so long," she whispered in his ear.

"You have? But, but, but, but..." He reached up to touch her lacy bra. It was so soft—truly high-quality fabric, he decided as his fingers traced her erect nipple.

"Mmm. Don't ask questions. Attraction is so powerful and we must go where our heart beckons."

"But you and the Colonel..."

"Shhh," she said, laying a slim, cool finger on his lips. "I don't see him here, do you? Let's not think about him. You're the one I want."

**XXX**

Newkirk didn't require much more encouragement than that. Between Tiger's assuring words and the sensation of her hand stroking up and down just below his bellybutton, he was helpless in her arms.

Until he wasn't. Tiger breathed in deeply as his warm hand slid under her bra and tweaked the nipple. His other hand found its way around to the fasteners and let her bra drop off. Both his hands were on her breasts now, and she was panting. Those hands of his. She'd had faith in those hands and those clever, clever fingers.

Oh, lord, now he was breathless too. He hadn't felt a woman's breasts in so long and it was enough to make him hard. He gently pushed her shoulder down, beckoning her to switch positions, to let him on top. As she complied, he slid down to kiss a breast, nuzzle it, and suckle it while he stroked the other one. His fingers deftly worked aside the crotch of her underpants, and his index finger slid inside her and wiggled, pleased and relieved to find her wet, drenched even, with anticipation for him.

He was proud of himself. He had made her delightfully moist. Hogan had talked of him like he was a boy, but he was a grownup man, and Tiger, sultry Tiger, wanted him. He slid his shorts off.

He switched breasts and heard her sigh and moan, growing increasingly sure that she did indeed want him. Him, Peter Newkirk. As the intensity built, he kissed her neck and chest to lower the heat before returning to her breasts and turning the flame back up. Yes, he knew what he was doing. It was like his words. He knew what he wanted to say. Once he got the words out, he was clever and articulate and very, very persuasive. Sometimes he just needed a little time to get past the halting phase.

He was enjoying the persuasion part, coaxing Tiger along. Oh, he liked to please a woman. He was so hard and wanted ever so much to fondle himself, but he ignored his own rising need and renewed his attention to her breasts. He stroked and kissed them as if there was no more precious sight. He sucked firmly yet gently. He was never rough.

With only the slightest assistance from his fingers, she convulsed under him as he continued to suckle. As he drew back his lips, he watched her with intense satisfaction.

She sank into the bed. He'd done all that just by concentrating on her breasts? Robert had never done that to her before. Oh, this _was_ an interesting young man. She wasn't going to hang back. She wrapped a hand around him now, pulsing.

But not for long. She was wet and he was ready. He pushed her hand off, found her entrance and filled her up. He was in a hurry and had forgotten the condom; she didn't care. He had the practiced moves of a considerate lover. Slow, then fast; slow, then fast.

Then the reminder arrived that he was indeed young; he finished quickly and collapsed on her, panting and murmuring her name. She'd have liked a bit more of his fullness and thrusts. Robert would have gone for 10 full minutes at least. But there was time for that. And not just tonight, she decided then and there. Robert would simply have to understand. And Louis... well, he had already made his opinion known.

"I, um, I, um," Newkirk said as he played with her hair. "I hope that w-w-was alright for you."

"It wasn't alright," she said, watching mischievously as his face fell. "No, it was ... very satisfying, _mon minou_. Superb. But we need to be careful, _bébé_. I have condoms. You know how to use them, _oui_?"

"Yes, I, I, I know how. Ssssorry. Sorry, sorry, Love. I got carried away. It's been so long."

"Well, apparently it's like riding a bicycle because I would never have known," she told him, stroking his neck as if trying to find the place he kept his confidence. If he could do that well when he was nervous, imagine what he could do for her when he was feeling sure of himself.

"Really, Love? It was good for you?" His face simply beamed.

"It was amazing, and _you_ are good for me, Pierre." His hand was stroking her waist and belly. He laid his head in the crook of her arm and yawned.

"_Oui_, sleep a little. It's a nice big, soft bed," she said. "You must miss that."

"I never slept in such a bed," Newkirk yawned. He was used to meager accommodations. Growing up, it had been three boys to a bed in his house, unless he managed to escape his brothers and crawl into bed with his protective big sister. Curled up beside Mavis was one of the few places he had ever felt safe.

They didn't sleep for too long. Half an hour later, Tiger felt a nudge on her thigh. She smiled as she wrapped her hand around the source of it.

"You're back so soon," she said with a smile. "What can I do for you, Sir?"

"Mm. I fancy what you're doing right now, Love." He sighed into her confident strokes. "Tiger?"

"Oui, _mon minou_?"

"Is this how the colonel likes it?"

"You want to know how the colonel likes it?" she smiled. Oh, God, he idolized that man. Louis had warned her and he clearly wasn't wrong.

Newkirk nodded, biting his lip like child waiting to be told off.

"Well, I will show you exactly how he likes it. Then you can show me what you like, eh?" She stroked him firmly.

Newkirk brightened. "Yes, Love."

**XXX**

"Pierre, you mustn't let him talk to you that way."

"He's the CO. I can't really say, 'Stop, you're hurting my feelings,' now can I?"

"But you don't stammer all the time."

"I know," he sighed.

"You're not stammering now," she said in her most sultry voice.

"Surprising, that is," he said, his fingers running through her hair and tip-toeing down her neck.

"Really? Why do you say that?"

"Because you make my heart skip a beat." He smiled at her, clambered back on top and kissed her senseless.

XXX

"J-just there," he said. "Oh, j-just like that. Forward only, not backward. Oh, God, Tiger." He guided her hand as it stroked the tender spot just behind his balls.

"That's good," she said. "You must always tell your lovers what you like, Pierre." She shimmied down and took his length in her mouth and massaged it with her tongue, surfacing just long enough to tell him, "Mmm, so big. And you taste so good."

She worked so confidently, pumping, then releasing; sucking, then barely licking. And that steady, steady stroke. She was driving him insane. Had she found that spot on her own? Or had he shown her?

Yes, he had probably shown her. That was the thought that tipped him over the edge. She kept working him over as he shuddered and gushed into her mouth. She came up from his groin, laughing, and plopped a cheek down on his, and he reeled a bit. He'd forgot for a minute that it was Tiger.


	19. Apres Amour

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tiger fills Hogan in on her special night with Newkirk.

"And?" Hogan said three days later as he pulled Tiger into Scheffler's Barn after a late-night mission.

"And what?" Tiger said with a grin.

"Oh, don't be coy! Newkirk waltzed back here Monday morning and slept for six hours. We had to hold him up during dinner, and then he slept another four hours, murmuring, 'Here, Kitty' and 'Nice Pussy' in his sleep. What did you do to that boy?"

"Do you really want details? And are you sure it's what _I_ did to _him_?"

"OK, what he did he do to you?"

"He has some very interesting ideas and techniques. You should chat with him sometime," Tiger said enigmatically. "I will give him credit for being like you in one respect: He does understand the concept of 'Ladies First.'"

"Oh my God. You liked him."

"Are you mad? I loved him! It's all over between us, Robert. This is goodbye."

"TIGER! NO!"

"Oh, _mon Dieu_, Robert. Don't be ridiculous. He was very, very good, sweet, and considerate. He isn't you. He tastes of cigarettes, for one thing. And he lacks your endurance."

"Well, that's a relief."

"That's one way to put it, yes. We made plans to do it again. He promised to brush this time, and I’ll train him to keep going a little longer."

"WHAT?"

"Robert, what did you think would happen? You said it yourself -- he's got a crush on me. He's a very good lover, and he's quite adorable. I see no reason to break his heart or deprive myself of his company."

Hogan tried to calm himself. "All right. All right. So tell me. What did he like most?"

"Breasts. Everything to do with breasts," Tiger replied.

"Is he ... as good as me in that department?"

"Let me put it this way. I didn't realize concerted nipple stimulation could produce that result."

"Seriously?"

"Mm-hm."

"That good?"

"Oh, yes."

"OK. OK. I can learn. Anything else noteworthy?"

"Yes. He's nearly as obsessed with you as you are with him."

"I'm not obsessed with Newkirk!"

"Oh, really? Were you going to ask me how many times he came?"

"No! Wait, how many?”

"Five."

"My God, in five hours? He's a professional!"

"Six, I suppose, if you count the pocket pool game I wasn't supposed to see on the drive back. He really excels at masturbating."

"He's known for that around here, yes."

"Anyway, Robert, we have less than an hour before I have to go back home. You need to get back to roll call. What could we do in the meantime?"

"Show me what he did to your nipples," Hogan said.

"With pleasure," Tiger said. 

  



	20. Taking Matters Firmly into Hand

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hogan witnesses Newkirk's private moment and learns something unexpected.

After the raid on the Gestapo field office in Bad Kissingen came to light, patrols were increased throughout the region. Hogan's team was benched until suspicion lifted. No one came into the camp, and no one went out. 

All the men were dismayed. But two men in particular were despondent. They yearned for action, they yearned for freedom, and they yearned for Tiger.

Newkirk took refuge in his usual place-- his sewing room. There was no need for new uniforms right now, but there was mending to do, not to mention a fair bit of spot cleaning. It was enough work to keep him out of the barracks, but not enough to keep him really busy, so his mind wandered. 

Where his mind wandered was no mystery, at least to some people. Kinch, for one, could hear him from the communication hut. Newkirk had always been loud, as every man in the barracks knew from his nightime manipulations. Add the gasoline of a recent tryst to the flame of a prisoner's smoldering desire, and the resulting conflagration got pretty noisy. 

Hogan, meanwhile, had near total privacy to reenact his escapades with Tiger. Near total, except for the thin wall and the curious ears on the other side of it. It was his awareness of how thin the walls were that send him wandering down the tunnels one afternoon.

Most of the men were out and about in the compound, enjoying a sunny day. Hogan figured he could find a nice corner for 15 minutes and would have relief. No one would miss him for that long.

He was on his way to that corner when he heard rhythmic breathing sounds from far along one corridor. He had some idea what that sound was, and no idea why he felt compelled to pursue it.

He peered into the sewing room. Newkirk was on his back on a carefully laid-out SS uniform, his trousers pooled around his knees. His eyes were shut tight, his hand was wrapped around his dick, and his erection was formidable.

Hogan stared and instantly the strong urge that had propelled him to seek a quiet space down below asserted itself. He unzipped his trousers and began to stroke as he watched Newkirk approach completion.

"Oh, God, oh, God, I'm coming, Guv. I'm coming. Oh, Guv..." Hogan pulled back into the shadow as he watched Newkirk convulse, then lay still, stroking his softening cock as he tried to catch his breath. Hogan sped up his strokes and came quietly, biting his lip so hard that it hurt.

As Hogan zipped himself up and wiped his hand on his handkerchief, he allowed himself to think about what he'd just seen. "Oh, Guv," Newkirk had said. "I'm coming, Guv."

Newkirk was fantasizing about him.


	21. Who Can It Be Now?

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Newkirk emerges from his fantasy, sorts through complicated feelings, and wonders if someone was watching.

Newkirk heard the scuffle of feet as he lay on the ground half-naked, trying to catch his breath. He didn't care much if anyone knew he was masturbating; that was common behavior in camp, and very common knowledge when it came to him.

No, the hard part for him, if you'd excuse the word choice, was not what he did, but what he said while doing it.

It had happened a few times in the barracks already. Several "Sirs" and "Guvs" had slipped out when he came while lying late at night in his bunk. He'd been able to redirect suspicion after the ribbing he got. "Guv? Who are _you_ thinking about, mate? It's Love, not Guv." And Sir sounded an awful lot like he was stammering out Sigrid, that pretty little barmaid he fancied. 

But it was getting too difficult to explain. He needed the privacy of his sewing room or that space behind the delousing shed to get his needs met now, and it was bloody irritating because his needs were intensifying. After that lovely night with Tiger, he'd have expected his thoughts to return to her, and they did. Thinking of her firm breasts, supple limbs, soft skin and wet, wet pussy got him rock hard. God, how he loved suckling her breasts and seeing what that did to her. He loved probing inside her and making her come. But to get himself over the finish line, he needed to think of someone else, and that someone else was Colonel Hogan.

He'd heard them together. He knew the Colonel's moans and sighs when he was alone with Tiger.

He'd even seen the Colonel in the shower once, so big and firm, stroking himself with a wet, soapy hand. He'd watched him squirt his juices out just before the enlisted men arrived and swarmed the place. He shouldn't have been there, peering through the gate, as officers were entitled to shower alone, but he wanted a glimpse, and got more than he bargained for.

Once he saw that serene look of release on Hogan's face, he couldn't forget it. Tiger must see that look all the time, he thought. God, he wanted to see it again, to see his Guv relax that deeply. It wasn't wrong. They all saw how hard the Colonel worked, and wanted him to slow down and rest once in a while. Maybe I could help, Newkirk thought, or at least be there for him, the way the Colonel has done for me. What would it feel like to touch him?

The Colonel was always concerned for him; he just felt it. It was evident not just in the way he talked to his men, but in the kind way he touched them.

He'd felt the Colonel's hand on his face, on his neck, on his thigh, his arm, his back, his shoulders. Even on his backside as he climbed up through the tunnel. Did the Colonel have any idea what a touch like that did to a lonely man? 

And would he have touched him there if he did?

His mind ticked through other moments: His head on the Colonel's lap. The Colonel bathing him slowly, gently, to break his fever. Tucking him into bed. Picking him off the ground. Holding him as he shook with fear of a storm.

Kissing his forehead. Was he imagining it, or had that really happened? 

And listening to him. Letting him stutter, not stopping him, not giving up and walking away, not making that face most people made. Coaxing him to let the words fall out. Colonel Hogan, picking up the words from wherever Peter Newkirk had dropped them. 

Yes, Tiger was lovely. A beautiful woman with gentle, clever hands and a receptive heart. What a night he'd had with her. To be with her, on her, in her, was the fulfillment of a fantasy. He just imagined he was Colonel Hogan until the very end, when he imagined he was _with_ Colonel Hogan. He imagined his hands on a pair of strong biceps, caressing them.

He'd just finished fantasizing about the Colonel's hand stroking him into oblivion when he heard that scuffle. Who was there? He buttoned up and got to his feet, and hastily hung up the SS uniform that had cushioned his back as he laid on the ground.

He peered through the doorway. No one was there. Must have been mice.


	22. A Confrontation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> After a night of lovemaking, Tiger hears something she didn't anticipate and forces the question that has been on her mind.

A week, then a month went by. Slowly, operations returned to normal. Hogan's team were able to travel outside the camp; Tiger and other operatives were able to come in.

Hogan hadn't been able to shake that scene he witnessed in the sewing hut. He was used to men's bodies; no one spent a career in the Army without showering, changing, and yes, jerking off with other guys. Rank had its privileges, however, and for the last few years, as the only officer in an enlisted men's camp, he'd had a lot of privacy. Now he'd seen Newkirk fully erect and deeply immersed in a fantasy tale with his own name as its closing line. How often did the corporal think of him? Any why couldn't he stop thinking of Newkirk?

It was another late night tryst with Tiger that brought it all home to Hogan.

Her mouth was working its plush, insistent magic, as her head bobbed up and down over his groin. It was not the first time she’d gone down on him, but it was certainly the most intense. Normally a blowjob was foreplay, but this time, she showed no signs of stopping when he showed signs of coming. On and on she went, taking him deeper and deeper before finally pulling back to concentrate on his tip and the little ridge on the underside of his shaft. There was no turning back now. He was coming in her mouth.

"Oh, God. Oh, God. Peter, keep going. Keep going, Peter. Ohhhhh."

He realized what he had said, and knew she had too when she lifted herself up and rearranged her skirts. Normally she would plop down in the crook of his arm, soaking up the afterglow. This time, she sat beside him and watched as he shimmied his trousers back on and zipped himself up. He wasn't looking at her.

"You heard yourself, Robert?"

"Yes," he replied.

"You are thinking of him."

He looked at her. "I can't help it. It started, and I can't help it."

"How long have you felt this way?"

"Felt what way? I don't know _what_ I feel," Hogan said angrily. "I know I love you, Tiger."

"Yet you call out a man's name when we make love. Robert, whom do you love?"

"I love you."

"And Pierre. You love him."

"I know what you're thinking. But I've never been intimate with him. I've never done ... this ... with him."

"But you want to." Tiger was calm, as if she could see clearly what Hogan could not.

"I ... I don't know."

"You think it is wrong," Tiger said. "You are a good Catholic boy."

"Yes. Yes, I think it's wrong. A man with a man? That's wrong. Men belong with women. I belong with you, Tiger."

"That is your head talking. What does your heart say?"

"About what?"

"About making love to Peter Newkirk."

"I think he's a boy. I think he's vulnerable, and as his commanding officer, I have ... sometimes... wanted to comfort him. But I don't want to make love to him."

"Don't you? Are you sure about that?"

Hogan suddenly sobbed. "I'm not sure about anything any more." He cradled his face in his hands as Tiger wrapped him in her arms. She pulled him down to her breast and rocked him. She was as surprised as he was by the sudden break in his well-maintained control.

"Robert, I love you. You love me too in your way, I know this. But you have romantic feelings for Peter. Don't you see it? And I think he has these feelings for you, too."

Hogan nodded. "I saw him masturbating,” he said quietly. “I heard him call my name when he was finishing."

"Yes, it’s clear that he wants you too. He wonders about your needs, Robert. You must find out what you can be together. You need to try this."

"I'm his commanding officer, Tiger. I can't do that. Not now."

"When, then?"

"Maybe never,” he said. “It’s so wrong. It could ruin both of us if I acted on this, this sick impulse.”

”Love and attraction are not a sickness, Robert,” Tiger said softly. “You are not less of a man for loving another man.”

”No?”

”Not in my eyes, Robert. I know the man you are. You are passionate and strong. Pierre speaks to your heart.”

”I can’t do anything about it, Tiger. Certainly not while he is under my command.”

”He needs you now,” Tiger said simply. “And your heart knows this.”

“Well, then my heart has to wait. Maybe something can happen between us after the war."

"That could be years. You cannot live like this. You can't stop thinking about him."

"I can't."

"Then bring him here."


	23. Love's Embrace

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tiger forces Hogan and Newkirk to face their feelings for one another, and enlists LeBeau to give them privacy.

Hogan went out into the barracks and woke up Newkirk in the middle of a dream. "In my quarters now," he said softly. "Tiger is here. There's something we need to discuss."

Newkirk assumed he was in trouble now. Tiger must have said something about their little fling, something Hogan didn’t like, and now he was going to pay for it. He sighed as he climbed down from his bunk, and hoped the erection he had awoken with would subside by the time the crossed the room.

As Newkirk entered the room, Tiger approached him, held him around the waist, and reached up to kiss him on the lips. She kissed him deeply, and he responded with surprise but keen interest. God, she felt good in his arms. And that erection was not going away.

Pulling back, she took his hands and led him to the bunk. "Sit," she said. She reached to Hogan, extending her hand. He took it, and she pulled him to the bunk, too. "Sit with him."

Newkirk stretched and yawned while trying to remain attentive. Hogan just sat beside him, shoulders slumped. Newkirk looked at him quizzically, then back at Tiger.

"You speak of each other. You dream of each other. You fantasize about each other," she said. "You must find out if you belong together."

"W-w-what?" Newkirk said. He looked again at Hogan. This time, the Colonel lifted his head, and nodded at Newkirk.

"I can't get you out of my mind, Newkirk," he said. "Lately when I make love to Tiger, I'm thinking about you. It's not fair to her, and it's killing me."

"W-w-what do you want from me?"

"Honesty," Hogan said.

Newkirk gulped, and his head dipped. "I, I, I..." He started to hyperventilate. He put his head between his knees as Tiger stroked his hair.

Finally, he sat up. "Is this a set up?" he asked with a tremor in his voice. "Are you having me on?"

"He is telling the truth, Pierre. And I think it's time you did the same. I've been intimate with you. I've seen the signs," Tiger said.

Newkirk looked into her eyes and saw nothing but love. He crumpled and turned to Hogan. "I... I ... I don't want to be this way. But I think of you, too, Guv." His face scrunched up, and he gasped. "I think about being a-a-a-alone with you. And it scares me."

Tiger reached toward them, taking Hogan's right hand and Newkirk's left, then joining them together. "Please," she said. "Touch. Let your hands speak for you."

Hogan quickly wrapped Newkirk in his arms, and kissed him deeply, passionately on the lips. Newkirk melted into the embrace.

"I will leave you,” Tiger whispered. “You have all night. No one will come in--Louis will see to it."

Hogan pulled out of the kiss and nodded at Tiger. "Thank you, Tiger. Thank you." He reached his hand to her and felt her approval in the squeeze she returned. 

Newkirk's head was on his chest, tears of relief falling. "Shh, shh," Hogan was saying at Tiger slipped out. "We’re going to be OK."

"How can this ever be OK?" Newkirk asked. "We both know it's wrong."

"I don't know how what I feel for you can be wrong," Hogan said. "Can we get this nightshirt off, Peter? I want to make love to you.”

”Yes. I want that too, Sir,” Newkirk whispered. Hogan helped him slip the nightshirt over his head, then laid a hand on his bare chest and ran it down toward his bellybutton. Newkirk took his hand and led it lower, craving contact and relief.

XXX

In the barracks, Tiger shook LeBeau awake. 

"Louis, wake up. I need you to guard the Colonel's door."

"Where is Newkirk?" LeBeau asked sleepily.

"He's in there with the Colonel."

"FInally," LeBeau said. "And they are ..."

"Yes, I think tonight it will finally happen."

"It took them long enough to see it, _mon amour_." 

"Oui, _mon chou_," Tiger replied, kissing her true love.

LeBeau took her into his embrace and held her tightly for a moment. "_Demain soir_," he said. "At your flat."

"Bring the boys," she replied. "We can go out for a nice walk while they get a little better acquainted."

"We'll bring a blanket and make love under the stars," LeBeau replied. "For them. Because they cannot." He watched attentively as Tiger disappeared down the bunkbed entrance, then walked sleepily across the room. He picked up a chair and plunked it down in front of Colonel Hogan's office and sat down. He could hear the murmurings of new love, and it filled him with hope. 


	24. Behind Closed Doors

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Finally, Hogan and Newkirk are united. They have a long way to go, but they will go there together.

They started off tentatively, with Hogan taking the lead. Hogan was very, very gentle, kissing and caressing his corporal, not wanting to rush matters or spook him.

Or spook himself. This was still new to him. He'd never been with a man.

Newkirk, he soon discovered, had, but not willingly. He'd been hurt and hurt badly, by those who should have protected him. Helping him accept that love with a man could be satisfying, even healthy, would take coaxing. He was, very simply, afraid. So they had beginner's sex, like two virgins. They kissed and touched each other, explored tentatively with their mouths, masturbated one another, and masturbated side by side. There would be nothing more adventurous tonight.

The sensations astonished Hogan. To feel a man under him, to caress a face with a touch of roughness, to stroke a body that matched his own...it was exciting and arousing in ways he hadn't anticipated. The sight of Newkirk erect made him want to take him deep in his mouth and suck, the way Tiger had often blown him. Newkirk wasn't ready and wouldn't allow it for long, and it remained a deep yearning for Hogan. Something to aspire to. When he rocked and rubbed until he came--hands-free, for the very first time --against Newkirk's belly, it felt like a sacred connection had formed.

And Newkirk. He had hungered to feel the weight of Hogan on him, to feel enveloped and protected by him. He ached to be cared for, and had known at some level that he needed what only a strong, confident man could give him. He loved the feel of a woman's body, but no woman had ever made him feel so safe as Hogan had, even before he began fantasizing that they could be lovers. Giving himself to Hogan had seemed inevitable once he had recognized months earlier that Hogan meant security to him. He hadn't imagined the yearning was mutual, though, and he was moved to tears when he found it was. When Hogan pulled him across his lap to hold him as he cried in relief that night, it was a baptism that admitted Hogan once and for all into his heart.

Lying naked in bed together for the very first time, they felt each other’s breath, murmured their affection. Newkirk released tears of deep shame for “letting himself,” as he saw it, be a victim. “You were a child. They hurt you. It wasn’t your fault,” Hogan had insisted. Peter started to think he might possibly be right, and he let himself receive the physical comfort Hogan was offering, and even gave some back.

They curled together, a tangle of limbs and genitals. Hogan explored Newkirk with soft, wet kisses, and found a spot behind his ear that made him shiver with delight.

Newkirk’s hands on Hogan were more tentative, like his speech. He gingerly took his Guv’s erection and pumped, even placed his tongue on the tip, but he let the Colonel finish himself off by hand. It was OK. He would get there eventually, guided safely and patiently by his Colonel, his lover. It wasn’t that he didn’t want it, he told the Colonel in whispers. He just needed time to believe it was true. “You show me what to do,” he said, sounding for all the world like a little boy learning to tie his shoes. So Hogan showed him every step of the way, and did so with a tenderness few had ever seen in him. It was what Newkirk needed, and Hogan knew it.

LeBeau, from his perch at the door, smiled at the murmurs. At the unmistakable sound of Newkirk coming, he cheered silently, hearing in his moans the proof that Pierre had trusted the Colonel completely with himself. In Hogan’s tender whispers, he heard kindness and experience. The Colonel must be happy his hands were finally able to roam freely finally over Pierre, LeBeau thought, with a smile. The way he touched his men, especially Newkirk, there could be no doubt that he wanted—needed—this contact. He’d wondered the first time he saw Hogan wrap an arm around Newkirk’s waist if it would go any further, and whether anyone else had noticed how Pierre suddenly looked both interested and relaxed.

Kinch emerged from the tunnel, saw LeBeau keeping vigil, and knew why. “You must give them understanding,” Tiger had explained on her way out. He wasn’t shocked. And despite an upbringing that told him that some things were an abomination, he refused to be disgusted.

Kinch had seen the signs in Newkirk. Something was missing in him, something that had been taken from him long ago, a loss so profound that it couldn’t be named. Hogan seemed to fill his spirit; Kinch had long seen that. He had seen Peter’s longing for the Colonel’s attention since the day he introduced him. It was there, present, alongside a clear attraction to women. He knew Peter would bask in Hogan’s attention, wherever it led, and would still have an eye for the ladies.

But the Colonel with another man... well, that idea was going to take some getting used to. As tactile as Hogan was with all his men, but especially Newkirk, Kinch had never seen _that_ coming. He found himself wondering what masculinity was, really. Hogan was strong, courageous, a bold leader, intelligent. And he happened to fall in love with another man. What did it change? Kinch wasn't sure.

He stopped by to pat Louis on the shoulder. “They’re OK?” he asked. 

“They’re together,” LeBeau said simply. “At last.” He saw a look of loss in Kinch’s eyes and added, “Don’t be sad. The Colonel hasn’t changed. He is still who he always was. He simply realized that someone needs him in a way no one had before. I’m glad it was Pierre.”

Kinch nodded at that. He wanted the best for his friends, even if it wasn’t what he’d have expected. He was glad it was Peter, too. Hogan would take good care of him, and he sure as hell needed that. 

As morning dawned, the newfound lovers fondled each other into wakefulness. Then they stroked one another until they were hard, with Newkirk now every bit as keen and active as Hogan. It was Hogan, ever the leader, who eventually took them both in one broad, slick hand and rubbed them until they drenched him, erupting as one. They looked into one another’s faces as they came and saw serene ecstasy.

Oh, this affair was different, Hogan thought as he ran a semen-slicked hand over Peter’s neck and chest—and yet it wasn’t. He might still yearn for Tiger. But now he knew for certain that Peter was who he wanted, who he loved. And as he saw the sweet, gentle smile on Newkirk’s face as they caught their breath, he knew that he felt the same. He kissed Peter slowly, tasting him with deep pleasure.

They fell into the peaceful slumber of lovers. They had come together, and it was more gratifying than either man had ever imagined, an act of pure trust, care and surrender. Together, they would learn to satiate their hunger and trust in love. 


End file.
